


Up to the stars, she shows me

by dashingwhitesgt



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on Sing Street (2016), Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Sing Street lyrics, Slow Burn, a slight muse au if you squint, and i basically just wrote this bc i wanted to read it lol, but gilbert is older so he went to uni before anne, songwriter!gilbert has my heart, there's a lot of moodbert banter too, they've been friends since school, this basically just gilbert being peak pure of heart dumb of ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashingwhitesgt/pseuds/dashingwhitesgt
Summary: Gilbert didn’t mean to start a band. But Moody asked him to be his wingman, and he has very little control over his common sense faculties when Anne is sitting across a table from him. So, really, the odds were completely stacked against him.ORGilbert tries to ask Anne out, fails miserably, and accidentally starts a band. What gives?
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 95
Kudos: 117





	1. We're all just diamonds in the rough

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, you darling people!  
> Thank you so much for clicking on my fic! I’ve loved writing it so far and I hope you guys enjoy it too :)  
> A massive thank you and shoutout to the wonderful [Becky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles) and [Ela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx/pseuds/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx) who beta read this for me! You two are literally just the loveliest humans ever and absolutely brilliant writers and I'm ever so grateful for you.  
> Just a couple disclaimers in case someone @’s me but feel free to skip if you just want to get right into the story :)  
> \- Sing Street (2016) was used as inspiration for the plot of this fic, but the setting, dialogue and storytelling are entirely my own.  
> \- The title of this fic (as well as all its chapter titles) is based on song lyrics from the film.  
> \- I will be using the songs from the film in my fic. I do not claim to own them or have any commercial affiliation to them. They are just beautiful songs and gave me a lot of inspiration.  
> And without further ado, hope you guys like what I’ve cooked up for you <3

“She’s so pretty.”

Gilbert’s eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. Where did this version of Moody crawl out of? The version of Moody that draws heart-shaped clouds in the margins of his notes and exhales sighs that have absolutely nothing to do with getting rid of excess carbon dioxide. Gilbert tried to arrange his features into something that didn’t convey outright annoyance, settling for something more akin to pebble-in-my-shoe. 

“Sorry,” Moody muttered, glancing at Gilbert sitting at the adjacent desk and giving his head a slight shake as though to rid his brain of the daydreams that had started to pay rent up there.

Gilbert smirked at his roommate. He had dragged him to come to the study centre after their morning lectures in the first place. Maybe Moody was just tired of studying. His attention span whilst doing something as menial as making notes was about as real as a talking flower. Gilbert was perfectly happy poring over revision texts for hours on end, but Moody really belonged in the practice rooms at the conservatory. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearing lunchtime anyway.

“Hey, do you want to go get a sandwich downstairs?”

Moody looked up, a frown etched between his brows. “Who are you and what have you done with Gilbert Blythe?”

Gilbert chucked his sweater at Moody, the wool muffling the latter’s sniggers. The sound caused several withering glances to be cast their way, to which Moody shyly lifted an apologetic hand when he pulled the wool away from his eyes, and Gilbert kept his head ducked while packing up his messenger bag.

They silently left the study centre, footfalls stifled by the nylon carpet and poor acoustics of the room. Once out on the landing, and having pressed the button to the elevator that would take them to the Student Centre downstairs, Moody finally passed Gilbert his sweater and an apology.

“Sorry about that, I know you wanted to study some more.” Moody’s eyes were trained on the grouting between the tiles on the landing. He followed them with the toe of his shoe.

“That’s alright,” Gilbert shrugged, bringing his hand to Moody’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I’m here to talk about it, though.”

Moody looked up at his friend, a pursed smile his unspoken thanks to Gilbert for lending his ear.

The elevator dinged open and the pair stepped inside. Gilbert hit the button for the ground floor. As soon as the doors closed, a string of thoughts left Moody’s mouth.

“It’s just that – Ruby and I – we’re literally doing the _exact_ same degree and I just can’t think that it’s just a coincidence. And yeah, she’s so pretty, but she also got shortlisted in the CANIMEX competition, which is like, impossible. So she’s obviously a genius at playing the cello, too. _And_ —“

But Moody seemed to swallow his words when the elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open. Throngs of students were milling about, most of their classes probably having just come out for the start of lunch hour. Voices, the clatter of plates and cutlery, and the opening and closing of tills jumbled together in a cacophonous blur.

Gilbert glanced over at Moody. The former’s brows were knitted so tightly together it looked as though he would have to spend a decent amount of time separating them.

“Moody,” Gilbert prompted in an attempt to get Moody to exercise the laws of motion on his legs. He still took a moment to gain his bearings, so Gilbert made his way to the growing line leading to the sandwich concession stand, passing amiable nods and half-smiles to classmates and acquaintances.

Moody joined him at the back of the line just as another student nabbed their own spot in the queue. Then he said something that made Gilbert draw lines of confusion on his forehead.

“There’s a problem, though.”

“What?” Gilbert responded, genuinely confused. What was stopping Moody from asking out a girl that he thought was cute? A laugh that sounded distinctly like his brother’s chuckles rang out in his memory, but he pushed it to the back of his head. He would cross the “asking a cute girl out” bridge when he came to it. Besides, he hadn’t seen her on campus. Not yet, anyway. _Shut up, Gilbert._

Moody fiddled with a loose thread on the strap of his backpack. “Er… you don’t think Ruby still has a crush on you, do you?”

Gilbert’s eyebrows shot up to graze his fringe. “Moods, that was _high school_ , first of all. Which means that it has been two years since I’ve last seen her. Why would she still fancy me?”

“I know,” Moody conceded, nudging Gilbert to show that they had to move up the line. “But I can’t help but wonder.”

“Moody, it sounds like you’re worrying, not wondering.”

“I _am_ worried. Girls are complicated.”

“Boys are complicated too, you knobhead. But, luckily basic maths is on our side. Because if you play your cards right, the two complicated parts of the equation cancel each other out, and then everything’s good.”

Moody rolled his eyes, a smile cracking the line of his lips. “Ha ha,” he drawled sarcastically. “You really thought that explaining something using maths would make it make sense to a music student? Maybe it _is_ a fluke that they’re letting you operate on people in a few years’ time.”

Gilbert grinned at his friend, glad that he had gotten him out of the daydream state that he seemed to be spending more time in than was necessarily beneficial for a not-yet-starving artist. He wanted to help, but his patience with dream-mode Moody was as thin as autumn frost on a windscreen.

“Hey, what were you working on in the study centre?” Gilbert asked.

“Oh, just a music video proposal. I’m working on it with Jerry. It isn’t due for another two weeks, but I thought I’d get a head start.”

“That’s an interesting assignment,” Gilbert commented, nudging Moody with his elbow as the line shortened.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Jerry’s a really good bassist. Not McCartney good, but who is?”

“What have you done for the proposal?”

“I need to send the general idea for the song, and the rough piano arrangement which we have set up ourselves,” Moody said, making a face.

“But you like composing, don’t you?”

Moody shrugged. “Yeah, it’s cool. It’s just arranging that grates my bones.”

“Piano’s alright, though.”

“Maybe for you.”

Gilbert nodded, a wan smile settling on his lips. “I needed it for my med school CV. Plus, my dad loved it. Especially the variations on Paganini’s _Caprices_.”

“Wow, no wonder you’re such a nerd. Your dad listened to Paganini _for fun_.”

Gilbert jabbed his elbow into Moody’s ribs. “At least the piano doesn’t need electricity to project.”

“Hey! If an electric guitar is good enough for Brian May, it’s good enough for me.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes as they arrived at the front of the line. “Whatever floats your boat, Moods.”

They ordered their sandwiches and walked around to the other side of the concession stand to collect their lunch. After dropping a tip in the jar, they left the bustling Student Centre to find their usual seats under the oak trees outside the building. The leaves had started to turn, and fountains of red and orange would burst into the air at the whims of the crisp wind that visited the campus.

“Do you think…” Moody started as he unwrapped his sandwich from the wax paper sleeve. Then he just shook his head, muttering, “No, never mind.” He took a bite out of the sandwich, wiping the toasted crumbs from the corners of his mouth.

_Oh dear. Head-in-the-clouds Moody’s back._

Gilbert glanced over at him, unsure whether to prompt Moody further or to let it go. Turns out neither was necessary, because Moody spoke again as soon as he had finished chewing.

“D’you reckon you could, like, date someone else for a while?”

Gilbert nearly choked on his sandwich. Clearing his throat, he got out a croaky, “What?”

“Or just go on dates with someone! Just for a little bit. Ask someone we know, or whatever. Or spread a rumour that you have chlamydia or something.”

Gilbert snorted. “I love you, Moody, but I’m not telling the whole university that I have a fictional STD just so that you can ask Ruby out.”

Moody laughed, setting his sandwich on his knee and lifting his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. D’you reckon you can think of something, though?”

“Depends. What do I get out of it?”

“My eternal friendship.”

“I hate you.”

Moody blew him a kiss before going back to eating his sandwich. “Love you, too!”

* * *

It didn’t take much for Gilbert’s history of medicine lecturer’s voice to fade into little more than background noise as his thoughts spun webs of scenarios in which he could play wingman to his roommate. On the one hand, he could pretend that he had gotten back together with Winifred, whom he had dated on-and-off during his first year at uni. They had parted on amicable enough terms for him to do that. But the thought of pretending to date someone that he had actually dated in the past made Gilbert’s stomach tie itself into knots.

On the other hand, he could actually go on a couple of dates with someone, but he didn’t want to lead someone on if he wasn’t planning on spending any more time on the dating scene than it took Moody to grow a pair. 

_Although, that_ could _take a while_ , Gilbert reasoned. 

But even if someone wasn’t interested in a longer commitment, there wasn’t really anyone in his immediate group of friends that he would want to spend time with in that way.

Gilbert let out a sigh through his nose as he tapped his pen on the notes in front of him. He would have to revisit this inner monologue later. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs that he had been spinning, and tuned back into what the lecturer was saying.

“It is, of course, interesting to see how fictional doctors have been portrayed over the years,” the lecturer said. Gilbert sat forward in his seat, not realising that the lecture had taken a rather interesting turn whilst he had been building castles in the clouds.

“We can learn much about the history of medicine by seeing how doctors were viewed in different time periods – and by different people, of course,” the lecturer continued. “You have Winston Graham’s Dr Dwight Enys, who faces a great deal of backlash for his perceived ‘modern’ views on mental illnesses around the time of the French Revolution. And then, of course, the famous Dr Watson, who turns into something of a forensic physician over the course of his relationship with Mr Holmes. Or even the infamous Dr Edward George Armstrong in Agatha Christie who, of course, was responsible for the death of a patient. Which is interesting to read, if you ever have the chance.”

Gilbert quirked his eyebrows as he wrote down the titles to peruse at a later stage.

“In essence, of course,” the lecturer continued, “there is much that one in our profession can learn from fiction, you know. Er… in the attitudes and— and, of course, the views of writers. Writers are the most observant of people. Sometimes critical. One must perhaps take what they say with a pinch of salt.” He chuckled as he said that, as though he had been on the receiving end of many a writer’s admonishment. “But you will never receive as excellent constructive criticism from anyone as you will from a writer.”

Gilbert smirked, casting his mind back to school. He knew that a writer could give “excellent constructive criticism,” alright.

_Wait._

Gilbert’s pen froze on the page, ink leaking onto the lined paper. But his mind was already far away from cleaning up ink spills.

_A writer._

He knew a writer.

_Anne._

She could help with Moody’s-having-girl-troubles-gate. Plus, if she did want to go on a date with him, that was just an added bonus.

Even though she had started uni two weeks ago, they hadn’t spoken since Gilbert had texted her a good luck message during Freshers’ Week. Anne had just replied to say that they could meet up for coffee once she’d settled in.

_Maybe it won’t be awful to take her up on that._

Gilbert reached down to dig around in his messenger bag, finally feeling the cool metal of his phone, which he still hadn’t had time to get a cover for. Something that Mary had constantly chastised him for whenever he visited home. It was chipped and cracked all over, but it served its purpose of sending messages and receiving emails at his student email address.

Underneath the desk, he quickly drafted a message to her and chucked his phone back into his bag. He would send it once class was over, but he couldn’t sit still knowing that he finally had an idea for how to approach his role as wingman.

The rest of the lecture was much less epiphany-inducing, and Gilbert, satisfied that he had found a neat solution to his problem, dutifully took notes.

* * *

As soon as the class ended, Gilbert marched out of the building, straight to the coffee shop where he always got his post-lectures caffeine fix to keep him awake until he was done studying that evening. It was a quaint little café. Wooden bookcases with battered secondhand books dominated one of the walls in the shop, while the others were plastered with yellowed maps and pages torn out of outdated dictionaries. There were only about ten tables tucked into the shop, which couldn’t really fit more than two dozen people. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans and steaming oat milk always helped to wake him up before he started with his evening study sessions.

Gilbert pushed the door open, a little bell announcing his arrival. The waitron in the corner, Jordan, glanced up as he entered and lifted their hand in silent greeting. He had met Jordan during his first week of class and had struck up a quick, casual friendship with them. At the time, they were doing an undergrad in Modern Languages, but had since moved on to a masters in international sign languages, which Gilbert often asked them about, since he had to learn ASL as part of his degree.

Waving back to them and making his way to the back of the short line leading to the barista’s station, Gilbert imagined that this is the place that Anne might love to visit when they met up for their promised coffee. The ambiance just screamed _Anne_. He grinned as he thought about her finding ways of sneaking some of those secondhand books off the shelves for some light reading.

As he neared the front on the line, Gilbert started digging around in his pocket for his student card, hoping that he’d gotten enough points to score a discount. 

Just as he found it, the door burst open, and nearly hit Jordan. The new customer’s sudden entrance caused Jordan to spill tea onto the saucer of the cups that they were carrying back to the kitchen. The whole shop whipped around to locate the source of the commotion, but it was only Gilbert’s smile lines that deepened when he saw who was at the door. 

Her face had flushed a deep red, which complemented the shock of hair that she had attempted to wrestle into her signature braids. She wore a wonky scarf with frayed edges, and a pair of corduroy trousers that were patched with brightly coloured scraps of fabric in some places. Two years could change much, but not the scatterbrained burst of colour that Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s whole being radiated.

“Oh my gosh, I’m dreadfully sorry!” Anne exclaimed, desperately grabbing napkins from the nearest table and offering them to the waiter. 

Jordan just laughed, brushing off Anne’s apologies. “No worries. Thank you for the napkins.”

“I really am awfully sorry! Can I help you with anything? Anything at all?”

“I’m alright, you didn’t get any on me. I’ll just go get a new saucer,” they smiled at Anne, whose blush had travelled all the way to her neck and under her scarf.

“I’ll leave a tip for you when I pay!” Anne called after them, brushing her flyaways away from her forehead and straightening her scarf. Gilbert just heard Jordan laugh as they disappeared through the door to the kitchen in the back. He looked back at Anne, who was suddenly very interested in the mechanics of shoelaces.

Then she looked up and her eyes immediately found Gilbert. Face lighting up like a Christmas tree, the last thing he heard was “Gil!” before she had tackled him into a tight, albeit aggressive hug.

“Speak of the devil and you’ll step on its tail,” Gilbert laughed as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She still smelled of cinnamon and thyme, the latter of which he knew she loved to grow in plant pots in the kitchen at Green Gables. The former was just her hot beverage spice of choice.

“Why were you speaking about me?” Anne asked as she pulled away, tucking her hair behind her ears and trying to smooth back the flyaways that had already started sticking up again.

“Not speaking, just–“

“Next!” the barista called, yanking Gilbert’s attention away from Anne for the first time since she’d entered the coffee shop.

“Oh,” Gilbert breathed, half turning to the counter, before glancing back at Anne. “I was actually meaning to text you later, but do you want to do that coffee catch up we were planning on right now maybe?”

A smile quirked on Anne’s lips, dimpling on her cheeks. “I have a study group in an hour, but I’d love that.”

Gilbert let out a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding. “Brilliant.”

Anne passed him a soft smile before stepping to the counter to order her tea.

_Chai with oat milk, no sugar,_ Gilbert repeated her order in his head, committing it to memory. Maybe he’d have to use it someday.

“Sir?” the barista called, prompting Gilbert to hand over his reusable mug and place his order.

As he stepped away from the counter, Anne immediately started hurling questions at him. “How have you been? How is med school going? What’s third year like?”

Gilbert chuckled, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, holding up his hands. “First I’d like to know how in heck you’re _already_ part of a study group?”

Anne snorted. “What a whited sepulchre you are, Mr Blythe.”

“You’re quoting _Heart of Darkness_ a fortnight into uni? Your professors must love you.”

“First of all, I’ll have you know that I’ve read Conrad since the tender age of thirteen. You should know that; you were there. And second of all, my professors _adore_ me and want their kids to marry me so they can have smart grandbabies.”

“Joke’s on them, if you’re still planning on being faithful to your role as the Bride of Adventure.”

Anne quirked her eyebrows. “Adventure is ever-so-slightly more elusive when I find myself hunched over dense Russian literature until the librarian chases me away with promises of sticking a catalogue so far up my behind that I’ll be talking in MLA citations for a week. Her words, not mine.”

Gilbert laughed at that, his sniggers only being stifled by the barista’s dismissive wave as their drinks were placed on the counter.

As they made their way to a table in the corner, Anne spoke again. “Just in case you thought it slipped my mind, I know you’ve yet to answer my questions.”

“Well,” Gilbert started, taking a sip from the dark roast. “Med school has not yet managed to burn me alive, but I suppose it’s only a matter of time until a lab prac decides it needs more flair.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Anne teased.

Gilbert raised his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their banter quickly morphed into a spirited conversation. Gilbert asking Anne about Freshers’ Week, Anne asking Gilbert about what electives he was taking. It was only when Anne asked about his living arrangements that Gilbert’s mind drifted back to his roommate.

“Actually, speaking of Moody, there was something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Anne sat a bit straighter, eyebrows pinched together in question. “Yeah?”

“Um…”

Gilbert takes in a deep breath, trying to get his pulse to stop racing any higher. _Just do it, Blythe. She’ll understand. It’s for Moody. She knows him. Just explain the situation._ But could he date her? Even if just for show? 

_No, I can’t._

“Gil?” Anne prompted.

_Say something, Blythe._ So he just blurted out, “Will you be in a music video for our band?”

Anne’s eyes widened and Gilbert felt his heart bruising his breastbone. Then a grin spread over her face and she let out a laugh. “Gilbert Blythe! You did _not_ start a band at uni without telling me!”

The tension in Gilbert’s shoulders melted away, only to be replaced by a new strain: a music video for a band? There wasn’t even a day-old band to speak of. Why had he said that?

_Oh._

Moody’s talks about his music video for class.

_Well, fuck._

Gilbert looked back at her, feeling as though all the blood had retreated from his face. But Anne didn’t notice that; she was far too busy asking questions that Gilbert had no clue how to answer.

“Who else is in it? Did you pick up the piano again? What did you call your band? Be honest, did you only join a band to use that as a pick-up line?”

Gilbert almost choked on his coffee at her last question. “Wha–? N-no,” he sputtered through a cough, trying to clear his trachea.

“You alright?” Anne asked, turning in her chair to stand up if he needed her help.

“Spectacular,” he answered weakly.

Anne raised her eyebrows at him, but slid back into her chair with a wary, “Okay.”

Gilbert cleared his throat to make sure that he didn’t have any coffee droplets affecting his ability to breathe: he was having enough trouble as it was.

“So, brief me on this band of yours. Who’s in it? What do you play?”

“Well…” Gilbert ventured, praying that buffer words will help trigger an epiphany. “Er, there’s Moody.” _Moody got me in this mess,_ Gilbert reasoned with himself. _I may as well drag him along with me._ “And I play the… er… the vocals.”

“You sing?” Anne exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I mean, obviously you did choir in high school, but I didn’t think you had it in you to lead a whole band.”

“Hey!” Gilbert protested, although only half-heartedly. He definitely didn’t think that he had it in him either. But he’d made his bed and now he had to sleep in it. Trying to smooth things over he said, “Between Moody, Charlie, Jerry and I, who else was supposed to be allowed access to plugged-in microphone?”

Anne scrunched up her nose, freckles clustering together. “Yeah, I’ve had the misfortune to bear witness to the cataclysm that is Charlie Sloane trying to carry a three-tone tune. Let’s just say, his rendition of _Ode to Joy_ had Beethoven turning around in his grave.”

If Gilbert hadn’t been so caught up in trying to construct the backstory of their fictional band, he might have laughed a lot harder at Anne’s joke. 

Lucky for him, Anne tried to keep the conversational wheels rolling. “So you, Moody, Charlie and Jerry. Quite the stupendous lineup you’ve got going on there.”

Gilbert chuckled weakly. Charlie and Jerry’s poor, unsuspecting souls.

“So, what’s this music video you were talking about earlier?” Anne asked, taking a sip of her tea.

The rational part of Gilbert’s brain was willing him to kick himself. He had dug a really, _really_ deep hole for himself. And instead of climbing out while it was still shallow enough, the much less rational part of his brain had insisted that he just keep digging. _Maybe if I dig further,_ Gilbert thought, _the heat at the centre of the Earth will burn me up and I won’t have to face any consequences._

“Gil?” Anne prompted, shaking Gilbert from his thoughts of being burnt to a crisp by a roaring inferno. He blamed her hair for giving him ideas like that.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Gilbert said, trying to regain his composure. “So, er… we just think it might be good if we make it look like we know what we’re doing, you know?”

“Oh, definitely. Nothing quite says ‘I got this’ like a redhead waltzing around in a music video.”

“If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I–“

“I’d love to.”

Gilbert stared at her. A smattering of pink had risen underneath Anne’s freckles. She let her gaze drop to her mug that she had wrapped in her hands. A small smile played at the corners of her lips.

“Really?” Gilbert breathed.

Anne laughed at that, looking back up at him. Her laugh was gentle, but bright. Like sunshine falling through autumn leaves. Tucking a stray strand of hair that had freed itself from her braid behind her ear, she replied, “Sure. When you’re rich and famous, I’d relish being able to say that I played a part in your debut.”

Gilbert chuckles. “We’ll try our best.”

“I should hope so.” Anne shrugged nonchalantly, taking another sip of her tea. “It would be most embarrassing to be known as the wench who was in one abysmal music video for one abysmal band.”

Gilbert swallowed. There really was no getting out of this now. Moody was going to murder him in his sleep that night.

“So what do I get out of this?”

“Er…” 

He could hardly say ‘getting Moody a date with Ruby’.

“I’ll show you the best shoestring fries in a five mile radius from campus?” he said, trying to compromise.

Anne burst out laughing, dimples pressing deep indentations into her cheeks once more. “You know me too well.”

“So, we have a deal?”

Anne stuck her right hand out over the table towards him. “Deal.”

“D-E-A-L,” Gilbert spelled as he shook her hand.

Anne’s grip tightened around his hand. Almost as though she wasn’t quite ready to let go. As though the standard length of a handshake wasn’t nearly enough. “You remembered our tradition,” she whispered.

Gilbert squeezed her hand once more before he let go. There was no end to the list of things that her tightened grip around his palm had done to his heart. Gilbert resolved to untangle those thoughts when he wasn’t in her presence.

“Where our traditions are concerned, Anne-girl, it’s more a case of never forgetting than simply remembering.”

“Well, aren’t you quite the poet for a student of medicine?”

Gilbert chuckled and looked down at his hands wringing together in his lap. Then his eye caught the time on his watch. “Hey, it’s ten to. Shouldn’t you be getting to your study group?”

“Oh, yes!” Anne exclaimed, reaching for her satchel under the table.

Outside the windows, dusk was falling fast.

“Do you want me to walk you over?” Gilbert asked as he leaned down to retrieve his own bag.

Anne stilled halfway through getting up. She looked over at Gilbert, a soft smile adorning her features. “Whoever said chivalry is dead, has yet to meet Dr Blythe.”

At her words, Gilbert started to become severely concerned that his fast-beating heart was going to bruise his breastbone. She didn’t seem to notice the way his whole face became devoid of worry lines when he watched her sling her bag over her shoulder. Before he followed her out of the coffee shop, Gilbert left a tip for Jordan on the table, and waved to them as they came out of the kitchen.

Once outside, he jokingly held her arm out to her, a teasing smirk on his face. “Where to then, _mademoiselle_?”

Anne snorted, playing along and linking their arms as she began to walk in the direction of the library. “Still smooth as crunchy peanut butter, aren’t you?”

Gilbert shrugged. “That depends. Do you like peanut butter?”

* * *

Once he had said goodbye to Anne at the library, Gilbert started making his way towards the study centre but quickly stopped when he realised that any sort of studying would be dangerously compromised. He still had to sort through his thoughts about this band that he was apparently a part of.

_No_ , Gilbert decided. He’d first go back to his and Moody’s apartment and break the news to his friend.

As he walked, Gilbert tried to think of the best way to tell Moody.

_Hey, Moods, would you like to start a band? And maybe make a music video next weekend?_

Yeah, _that_ would go down well.

_I’ve decided we should team up with Jerry and Charlie._

Bloody hell.

All too soon, Gilbert had reached their block of flats, but no conclusions. As he trudged his way up the stairs, he settled for just telling Moody what they had to do next. But even after having decided his plan of action, his legs still felt like lead as he approached their apartment door.

The door swung shut behind Gilbert as he dropped his messenger bag on the floor. A few moments later, the furthest bedroom door opened to reveal a bleary-eyed Moody.

“Hey, Gilbert,” he said, stepping out of his room. His clothes were creased and any variety of bird would be forgiven for mistaking his hair for their nest. Always partial to a late afternoon nap.

“Hi, Moody.”

“Why are you back so early?”

Gilbert inhaled a deep breath. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is I’ve found a way to help you ask Ruby out. The bad news is we’ve got to form a band.”

_“What?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've bloody loved writing this. It's definitely been my safe space whilst I'm trying to not get eaten alive by online uni haha. Hope it brings some joy to you too!
> 
> I've also made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/75hu2yhznq7YpPmsMHvPEy?si=PHOCX28MQrejzG1uMSHAQg) for this fic, so go give it a listen if ya fancy xx
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it if you like; I'll be back (hopefully) soon with chapter 2 :)))))


	2. Learn to rock and roll it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moody chews Gilbert out like a piece of white boy bubblegum, Gilbert starts writing his first song, and Moodbert call Charlie & Jerry to convince them to make the worst/best decision of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get into chapter 2, I just wanted to say thank you for all the lovely comments & kudos you guys left for me on the first chapter! I'm so happy that you enjoyed it ❤️
> 
> And thank you to my best friend (who shall remain anonymous bc she's shy) for literally yelling ideas for this fic at me at 2AM and to darling [Becky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles) for being my beta for this! Love ya both xxx

The silence in their apartment was loaded. Gilbert was right: Moody  _ was  _ going to hang and quarter him in his sleep that night.

Moody exhaled a deep sigh and stumbled to the sofa, sinking into the pillows while rubbing his temples. The muscles in Gilbert’s legs seem to be completely unresponsive to his orders to get them far, far away from the consequences of the murderous crease between Moody’s eyebrows.

“Let me get this straight,” Moody started, making Gilbert glance up to try and gauge where he was going with this. “I ask you to help me think of a way to ask Ruby out and your brain goes: ‘Right, time to start a band!’ Am I leaving anything out?”

“Moods, let me explain,” Gilbert said, his voice  _ mezzo piano _ to try and keep Moody calm. “I was  _ going to _ ask someone on a couple of dates like you suggested, but when I was about to do that, I panicked and asked her if she’d like to be in a music video for our band.”

Moody looked up from where his head had been hanging below his shoulders. “What the fuck, Blythe?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Gilbert said, walking over to sit on the armchair opposite the sofa on which Moody was sulking. “I ran into Anne at the café near the library. But when I wanted to ask her out, I couldn’t do it. Not on false pretences. That’s not fair.”

“So, you thought it’s more fair for you to drag me into an imaginary band?”

“Well… it’s not just you,” Gilbert answered, running his fingers through his hair like he always did when he was in trouble.

Moody narrowed his eyes. “What the hell did you do?”

“I told Anne that Jerry and Charlie were also in it?”

Moody scoffed, getting up to go to the kitchen counter. Gilbert fixed his gaze on the carpet as he listened to his roommate pottering around the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea if the sound of the kettle and the squeaky opening and closing of the cupboard containing their teabags was any indication.

“Okay,” Moody said, coming to sit on the sofa again while he waited for the kettle to finish boiling.

Gilbert glanced up. Moody sat with his arms crossed. A line was still drawn between his eyebrows but it was a lot less severe than the one that had plagued his face when he had first heard of this band of Gilbert’s.

“I’m not saying I’ll do it, but I’m considering it. But before I do any more considering, I have a few questions,” Moody said.

Gilbert leaned forward on his elbows, nodding cautiously. If Moody was going to give him a dressing-down, he knew that he really deserved it.

“First of all, why on earth would you just randomly ask Anne Shirley-Cuthbert to be in a music video? That’s not exactly an everyday conversation topic.”

Gilbert gulped. “You’d mentioned the music video proposal that you had to do for class earlier, right? And, for some reason, apparently it was the first thing that had come to mind when I had to change course from asking her out.”

Moody actually looked mildly impressed at Gilbert’s answer. “So, you  _ do  _ listen to the things I say.”

Gilbert shrugged. “Maybe this isn’t the best example of that, though.”

The corner of Moody’s mouth twitched, but he quickly schooled his features back into something slightly more severe. He wasn’t done chewing Gilbert out quite yet. 

“Okay,” Moody said, clearing his throat. “Second question. Can you still help me think of a way to ask Ruby out?”

_ Oh, yeah.  _ The whole reason why Gilbert was in this mess in the first place.

“Once a wingman…” Gilbert replied to Moody’s question, raising his hands in surrender.

Moody pursed his lips together and nodded.

Then Gilbert had an idea.

“Hey, Mood–“ Gilbert started, just as the kettle’s whistling interrupted him.

Gilbert glanced over at Moody who snapped his fingers at Gilbert, indicating that he should go make the tea. 

_ Fair enough. _

Glad for the diversion, Gilbert got up and made his way to the counter, rifling through the teabags in the tin on the counter before finding the Earl Grey that Moody preferred.

As he started pouring the hot water into Moody’s mug, he spoke again.

“Moody?”

“Hm?” Moody answered, his head still turned to look out the window on the other side of the room.

“I had an idea how you can ask Ruby out if you want to hear?”

Moody’s head whipped around so quickly, Gilbert lived in genuine fear that his roommate was about to get whiplash.

“Yes?”

“Well, bands do gigs, right?”

Moody nodded slowly, confusion written in the frown on his forehead.

“What if we do a gig sometime and you can invite Ruby to come? It’s a neat set-up if you want to ask her out for drinks or something afterwards.”

Moody raised his eyebrows. “I should give you more credit sometimes, Blythe. You aren’t always an idiot.”

“Remember that next time I do something stupid,” Gilbert said as he made his way back to the sitting area, Moody’s mug in hand.

Moody snorted, taking his tea from Gilbert. “You should think yourself so lucky.”

Gilbert settled back into his armchair. He watched Moody gingerly taking a few sips of his warm beverage before he had to ask Moody the question that had been plaguing him ever since he had made up a band less than two hours ago. “So will you do it?”

Moody fixed him with a stern gaze, but Gilbert knew Moody well enough to know that there was a smile playing behind the scowl that he thought was the appropriate facial expression. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Gilbert’s shoulders sagged with relief as he let out a breath that he hadn’t been able to release ever since his arrival at the apartment.

“But I have to ask, why did you drag Jerry and Charlie into this too? I mean, I kind of deserved it – don’t quote me on that – but what did  _ they _ do?”

“Well, you’d mentioned Jerry’s bass-playing earlier so that’s probably where he came from. And Charlie’s his roommate. Plus, didn’t Charlie used to play drums in the marching band in high school?” 

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that one,” Moody chuckled. “The teacher felt bad for kicking him out of the choir and let him join the marching band instead.”

Gilbert snorted at the memory, producing the first smile that he could muster since he had arrived at their flat.

“Despite the absolute shitshow you caused, at least you managed to put something together that’s a notch more sophisticated than ragtag. And I’ll do it on one condition,” Moody bargained.

“If that condition is that I have to tell people I have an STD, forget it.”

“Well, now that you’ve mentioned it…”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. What’s the condition?”

“ _ You _ have to tell Jerry and Charlie, since you’re the one who roped them in, and you have to tell them by tomorrow.”

“That’s two conditions.”

“What are you? A lawyer? Are you going to tell them or not?”

“Fine, I’ll do it tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Moody said, getting up with his half-finished mug of tea. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go work on actual music-related business.”

Gilbert nodded. But before Moody closed the door to his room to begin working, Gilbert spoke up again. “Can I borrow your guitar later?”

Moody glanced at him over his shoulder, a smirk twisting on his face. “Just don’t break it.”

* * *

Gilbert settled into his chair, the guitar he had borrowed from Moody on his lap and pen poised over the legal pad he had on the counter in front of him. He cast his mind back to his unexpected meeting with Anne earlier that day. It really had been a wonderful surprise to see her. Apart from his awful slip of the tongue (which was the reason why he was sitting here, attempting to compose a song in the first place), the hour he had spent with her had been one of his favourites since coming to university two years before. He had particularly enjoyed their conversation on the way to the library.

_ “I really am quite impressed that you’re in a band, you know,” Anne said, scuffing her feet on the pavement and making gravel come loose underfoot. “Pursuing something just for the hell of it. I mean this–“ she gestured vaguely, alluding to everything and nothing at the same time. “This is your life; you can be  _ anything.  _ But I’m selfishly glad that it’s this, because I just adore music.” _

_ The smile on Gilbert’s face froze painfully.  _ But,  _ he reasoned with himself _ , if I get this to work, it’ll all be fine.  _ So he just shrugged, hands shoved into his coat pockets, rolling loose pieces of lint between his fingers. “Well, I guess poetry and lyrics are very similar.” _

_ Anne looked up at him, a wistful smile crossing her face, as though she were recalling a memory that lay just out of reach. “I’ve always thought that poetry is the sheet music of the soul. It explains why poems and music are the most perfect marriage, don’t you think?” _

_ Gilbert glanced over at Anne, catching her gaze. “I’m rather inclined to agree with you.” _

_ The corners of Anne’s eyes creased. Gilbert felt his heart stutter and looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. _

_ If Anne noticed it, she didn’t say anything. She just looked away herself and glanced up toward the sky, her lips still donning that nostalgic smile. _

_ “Oh, look!” Anne exclaimed, grabbing Gilbert’s arm to stop their progression towards the library, and pointing towards the darkening sky. _

_ Gilbert followed the line from her finger, grinning when he realised what had gotten her so excited. _

_ “Isn’t it a wondrous feeling to see the first star in the night sky?” Anne sighed, dropping her finger, but keeping her gaze turned upwards. “All of them are so special, but I always feel particularly lucky if I get to see the first one that wanted to come out to play. Can you imagine being that star? Looking down on every good and glorious thing in the world?” _

_ She was so enraptured by the thought of getting to witness the first evening star that she didn’t even notice Gilbert gazing softly at her. She still had her fingers wrapped tightly around his elbow. He didn’t want to leave, but he knew that Anne would never forgive herself if she arrived late to a study group. _

_ “Anne?” he prompted, the timbre of his voice barely louder than a breath. _

_ She finally brought her eyes back to his, holding his gaze for a moment. Then she realised that she was still holding onto his elbow and immediately let go, reality seeping back into her thoughts as she remembered that she had a study group to attend. _

_ “Yes,” was all she said before she resumed their walk to the library. _

_ Gilbert still stood rooted in the spot for a few moments. He couldn’t shake off the patch of warmth that Anne’s grasp had left on his elbow. _

The memory of their walk slowly ebbed from Gilbert’s mind’s eye as reality started to edge its way back into his line of vision. The clock was blinking  _ 01:36 _ . But he couldn’t sleep now. Not when all of these thoughts and ideas were running circles around his head. And with her at the centre of it all. Even though the situation was utterly ridiculous, Anne’s eagerness for wanting everything to come together made all of his fanciful thoughts seem more tangible than he ever could have dreamed. They had agreed to talk again to set a date for shooting the music video before the week was out. He had to start writing something that halfway resembled a song.

Lightly picking at the guitar strings so as not to wake Moody up, Gilbert tried to find chords that didn’t remind him of nails down a blackboard. Twenty minutes later, and with no more progress on the chords front, Gilbert hoisted the guitar onto the kitchen table with a sigh. He would have to turn to the poetic side of songwriting if he was to get anything done tonight.

He let his eyelids shut out the world around him.

_ “I’ve always thought that poetry is the sheet music of the soul,”  _ the memory of Anne’s voice said, suddenly taking up full residence of Gilbert’s thoughts.

An invisible force yanked at Gilbert’s shoulders, making his eyes fly open and his hands flail to find the pen he had brought with him. He glances at the clock again.  _ 02:01 _ . That’s it.

_ It’s two o’clock on the edge of the morning _ , Gilbert writes, although when he stares at it, he can’t remember his hand inking that sentiment onto the page.

And then another stream of lines rushed out.

_ She’s running magical circles around my head. I hitch a ride on the dream she’s driving. _

The pen stops, ballpoint still on the page.

_ What next? _

Then Anne’s voice comes rushing back.  _ “Isn’t it a wondrous feeling to see the first star in the night sky?” _

Gilbert can’t get the next line on the page fast enough.

_ Up to the stars, she shows me,  _ he writes. 

Another interjection from memory-Anne.  _ “Can you imagine being that star? Looking down on every good and glorious thing in the world?” _

_ The streets spread out, miles below me. Up, and the world won’t let us down. _

Gilbert’s breath was racing as if a million butterflies had decided to take flight in his lungs. He kept the pen on the page, sure that the ink would spill out some other varieties of romantic words. But nothing came. Nothing else was ready to be immortalised in ink quite yet.

Heaving a sigh, Gilbert leaned back in his chair. He rubbed at his eyes, sleep calling to him, but his whirring mind kept it just out of reach. Maybe it was because he was still unsure whether this whole band thing was a good idea. But, in truth, whether it was a good idea or not didn’t really matter anymore. What mattered was whether or not he could actually pull it off. And, unfortunately for him, a lot of the “pulling it off” fell squarely into the laps of Jerry Baynard and Charlie Sloane. And the thought of getting them on his side, made Gilbert’s blood braise. 

He would have to call them first thing in the morning or he wouldn’t be able to concentrate in a single lecture that day. But he would also need to sleep a reasonable amount of hours to retain his usual attention span.

So, having reached dead-ends that could only be tied up in a couple of hours, Gilbert left Moody’s guitar on the kitchen table and went to bed, his mind still whirring with chord progressions and half-written lyrics.

* * *

“Morning,” Gilbert mumbled as he walked into the kitchen that morning to find Moody eating a dry piece of toast straight out of the toaster.

Moody said something through a mouthful of brown bread, which came out as “moof”.

Scraping the sleep from the corners of his eyes with his fingertips, Gilbert settled onto the chair next to the one that Moody was occupying by their kitchen table. He looked over at Moody, whose concentration was focussed solely on finishing the half-eaten toast.

When he was done brushing the crumbs away from the corners of his mouth, he looked back at Gilbert. “I heard you writing something in here last night.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I actually wanted to say that you’re not absolutely rotten at the guitar. I mean, considering you’d only ever dabbled in it at high school.”

Gilbert’s brain was too muggy from the mere handful of hours of sleep that he had managed to scrape together to decide whether or not that was a compliment. Trying to believe the positive, he just said, “Thanks.”

“Right,” Moody said, pushing his chair back and running his fingers through his hair as though he was still deciding whether he should use a comb that day. Gilbert thought he should, but he needed Moody on his side and he knew better to undermine Moody’s ‘brooding musician’ look.

“Hey, Moods?” Gilbert said when Moody started to make his way to their bathroom.

His hand was on the doorframe as he threw Gilbert a “Hmm?” over his shoulder, eyebrows slanted in question.

“Are we still calling the other two this morning?”

Moody regarded Gilbert with an odd expression, almost as if he knew that Gilbert would not be able to concentrate on any lecture material for as long as this weighed on his shoulders. So, shrugging, he just said, “Sure.”

Ten minutes later, Gilbert’s phone was buzzing on the kitchen table as the  _ Outgoing Call  _ on speakerphone rang throughout the apartment. Moody had brushed his teeth and his hair (to his credit). Gilbert leaned on the table with his elbows, while Moody had draped himself over two of the chairs and was looking out the window on the other end of the room.

“Hello?” Jerry’s voice suddenly came through the phone, causing Moody to swivel round to face the phone and Gilbert to lean in closer to the microphone.

“Hi, Jerry. Is Charlie there?” asked Gilbert, cutting straight to the point.

“Why hello, Blythe. Whatever happened to ‘how are you, Jerry?’ Don’t worry, I’ll be the good friend, so I’ll start. How are you?” Jerry drawled, but through the speakerphone, Gilbert could hear that he was moving. Hopefully on his way to rouse Charlie, who was an infamously late riser. So much so that his lecturers had forbidden his tutors to schedule his tutorials for anything earlier than ten AM.

“I’ve got ten fingers and ten toes, so can’t complain,” Gilbert answered Jerry’s question. 

“We’ve got something to ask you and Charlie,” Moody piped up.

“Oh, hey Moody. Just hold on,” Jerry said, his voice growing distant toward the latter words. He had probably set his phone down.

Gilbert glanced at Moody with raised eyebrows, as though to say, “What on God’s green earth is that Jerry child up to?”

Moody just shrugged, a look of “I’ve learned not to question it, and neither should you” completing the matter-of-factness of his reaction.

Then they hear the distinct sound of some sort of liquid hitting skin and cloth.

“Wha–”

“JERRY BAYNARD!  _ I swear to God and all her psychopathic minions– _ “

“Shut  _ up _ , Charlie,” Jerry said, complete indifference to Charlie’s threats colouring his tone.

“It’s not even eight AM, asshole! My Tuesday classes only start at noon.”

“Did the water get in your ears? I said shut u–”

“Hey!” Moody interjected, cutting into Jerry’s attempts to get Charlie’s brain to wake up.

“What the fuck?” Charlie said.

“Gilbert and Moody called this morning to talk to us and they’re being very rude about it, so I’m going to hope that they acquired some manners in the time it took me to wake you up,” Jerry explained.

“Bold of you to assume I’m awake,” Charlie mumbled.

“Hey!” Moody repeated, catching Charlie’s attention much more successfully this time round. “This is serious. Well, sort of.”

“Fine, I’m up, I’m up,” Charlie said, and Gilbert and Moody could hear the sound of pillows being thrown around.

“Right, he’s halfway conscious,” Jerry reported, speaking back into the phone. “I just poured some water on his face. It’s the only thing that gets him up.”

“Fuck you,” they hear Charlie grumble in the background.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Jerry continues. “What do you guys want and why are you acting like it’s a state secret?”

Moody raised his eyebrows at Gilbert, whose eyebrows had knitted together again.

Clearing his throat, Gilbert spoke up, “We need to start a band.”

Dead silence on the other end of the line. Then–

“Come again?” Jerry said.

“Gilbert was an idiot–“ Moody started.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie grumbled, his voice growing clearer as he assumedly moved closer to Jerry’s phone. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Hey!” Gilbert protested.

“He’s right, though,” Moody said under his breath, earning himself a slap upside the head from his roommate.

“I  _ was  _ an idiot, but  _ I’m  _ the only one who’s allowed to say that,” Gilbert said.

“Okay, but what’s this about a band? Like a band band? Like a rock band?” Jerry’s voice asked.

“Yeah, sort of. I’ll explain later, but what do you guys think?”

“I think you’re high on paint fumes,” Jerry said, without missing a beat. 

“And I wanna know why I’m being punished like this,” Charlie added.

“Because we need a bassist and a drummer, and  _ apparently  _ we have no friends other than you,” Moody answered, tossing Gilbert a stink-eye before Gilbert could even open his mouth.

“Keep this up and you’ll have no friends, full stop,” Jerry said darkly.

“Please just help me out?” Gilbert said before Moody could cut in again. “I’ll owe you guys.”

It went so silent on the other end of the line that Gilbert tapped his phone on the counter to make sure that they hadn’t disconnected.

Then he heard Jerry mutter something in French.

“What’s that?” Gilbert asked

“You being in my debt is very tempting,” Jerry’s voice came through the speaker.

“So you’ll do it?” Gilbert asked, his voice small. He could hardly believe that his impossibly stupid, scrappy plan might just work.

“Sure. What’ve we got to lose?”

“My sleep,” Charlie groaned.

“That’s a ‘you’ problem, Sloane,” Jerry quipped. 

“Yeah, you’re doing it, too,” Moody chimed in. “We need a Bonham.”

“ _ Fine _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, they have a band and half a song. Now what? 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It's a little shorter than I was intending, but this felt like a natural place to stop for now. Thank you for reading and I'll be back with more of their story as soon as I can 🥰


	3. A mixture of bounding perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me far longer to write than i anticipated, but it's finally happened! i won't keep you for too long, but i just want to say the sincerest thank you to [becky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles), who is one of the loveliest betas and human beings under the sun. she's also just a genius at delivering all the best shirbert angst, so go read everything of hers you can get your hands on. love ya to bits, becky ❤️
> 
> also, you may notice i've changed the rating to T and added a few tags. it's nothing too serious, i just reckoned that since they're college students, they'll be partial to cussing so i just don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable about that :)
> 
> and without further ado, i hope you enjoy what i've cooked up for you in this chapter!

“Oh my God, she’s smiling like a crazy person!” Cole squealed the moment Anne’s head poked through the doorframe of the flat that she shared with him, Diana and Ruby. He was sitting behind his laptop at the kitchen table, glasses pinching the bridge of his nose. Beneath their lenses, his eyes were glittering with mirth.

Anne looked away from him, busying herself in the incredibly absorbing process of removing her scarf and shoes. “Those glasses are only for you to see up close. I don’t think you actually have the faintest idea about what my face is doing,” Anne said, through gritted teeth, trying very hard to get rid of the smirk that she had been sporting all afternoon.

“You leave Cole the Mole out of this, Missy,” Cole drawled. “Sooooo… what happened?” Cole slinked out of his chair and came up to the kitchen counter where he leaned his chin on his intertwined fingers, a faux innocent pout on his face.

“I went to my study group,” Anne replied, hanging up her coat and busying herself with pouring tea into the kettle that Matthew and Marilla had given her as a ‘start of uni’ present a few weeks ago.

“Hmm, okay,” Cole mused. “It’s just that I know you’re doing Byron this week and he – in your words – _grates your bones_ , so… I’m just not entirely convinced that his poetry would have you grinning like Natalie Dormer.”

“It’s Byron himself and not his poetry that _grates my bones_ , thank you very much,” Anne said, putting the kettle on the stove and moving to rummage through her tea collection. “Do you want some?” she asked Cole over her shoulder.

“Peppermint, please. With a splash of stop-avoiding-the-question.”

“Okay, fine,” Anne groaned, turning around and setting her and Cole’s ‘A’ and ‘C’ mugs on the counter with their preferred teabags in them. “But this is to get you to shut up.”

“I don’t care why you’re telling me,” Cole said, waving her reasoning away. “Now spill.”

“So, I went into Meraki. You know? That cute coffee shop we discovered last week–“

“And you asked Jordan out! You did say that they were cute.”

“First of all, it was Diana that said they’re cute. That’s not to say I didn’t agree, but for someone so concerned with gobbling up any and everything that resembles tea, you have an atrocious memory, Cole.”

He just shrugged and waved his hand, prompting her to continue.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Anne continued. “I ran into Gilbert Blythe there.”

That immediately yanked Cole from his half-leaning stance against the counter to his full, gangly height, eyes bright and mouth tugged into a smirk. “I should’ve fucking _known_ that’s what you had tha–“

“End that sentence now, knobhead,” Anne interrupted. “We just chatted for a little while we had our tea. Well, actually he had a coffee with oat–“ Anne trailed off as she saw Cole quirk an eyebrow at her, his infuriating grin still plastered on his face. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter,” Anne said in a small voice as the kettle started whistling.

“So what did he say? Any news from his corner of the world?”

“Actually, yes,” Anne said, turning back to Cole to fill their tea mugs. “He’s started a band, apparently.”

A crease appeared between Cole’s eyebrows and he blinked a couple of times. “Um, sorry. I just want to make sure I heard this right.” He took his tea mug to the mismatched collection of armchairs that the roommates had either inherited from the previous occupants of the flat or been kindly gifted by the Barrys. Cole settled himself into the one that Anne had always thought resembled a 50s beach umbrella before he spoke again. Anne sat across from him on the floral one that she supposed used to be pink and purple but had faded into a sort of lilac over the course of its years of use.

“Gilbert I’d-rather-go-to-a-cardiology-seminar-on-a-Friday-night-instead-of-literally-anything-else Blythe has started a _band_? Like one that makes music? This isn’t some code for a medical internship or something, because we both know that lingo goes right over my head, darling.”

“Okay, first of all, doing well in school and being in a band isn’t mutually exclusive. Brian May got a PhD in astrophysics and he wrote _Fat Bottomed Girls_ ,” Anne said, blowing on the surface of her rooibos tea.

“If Gilbert Blythe writes something even remotely resembling _Fat Bottomed Girls_ , I’ll retract my statement,” Cole deadpanned.

“ _And second of all_ ,” Anne continued, “he said it was all pretty new and he and the rest of them haven’t quite worked the kinks out yet. But he’s asked me to be in a music video for the band so they must rank somewhere between ‘student band’ and ‘getting a feature in the local paper’.”

“Okay, I’m just going to roll with him asking you to be in their music video, because I don’t have enough Xanax to calm me down every time you say something new.”

Anne just shook her head at Cole as he flashed her a grin over his tea mug.

“Where are Diana and Ruby?” she eventually asked, after giving up on cooling down her tea by blowing on it.

“The conservatory, as per. They have those auditions for the string orchestra next week.”

“Oh, that’s next week already?”

Cole nodded. “Time flies when you’re reading Austen and getting boyfriends, doesn’t it?” 

Anne chucked the cushion behind her at Cole, earning him a splash of tea on his hand.

“Ow! Fuck you, Cuthbert.”

Anne snorted and sipped her tea as Cole threw her a dark look, but the grin on his face gave him away.

“So does this band have a name?” Cole asked, getting up to find a tea towel to clean his hand.

“Mm… I dunno. He didn’t say.”

A crease worried the space between Cole’s eyebrows. “Well, you said they are pretty new. Who’s in it?”

“Er, it was him and Moody, and then Jerry and Charlie, too.”

“Hm,” Cole scoffed, coming back down to the circle of armchairs and returning to his peppermint tea.

Anne sat back in her chair, legs bent and tea mug resting on her knee. “Now that I think of it, he did seem very non-committal about it. I dunno, the conversation kind of just went on, I guess.”

“Hmm,” Cole mused, swirling his tea around with a flick of his wrist. “You sure he didn’t just make that up to have an excuse to see you?”

“Cole!”

“What? I just don’t think that he’s over his crush for you. I saw on Instagram that he hasn’t dated anyone since first year.”

“In-instagram doesn’t give the full picture, Cole,” Anne argued, setting her tea mug on the end table beside her and folding her arms over her chest.

Cole raised his eyebrows and took the last swig of his tea. “Whatever blows your hair back, darling.”

Anne sighed. “Just–“ she started, scrunching her eyes shut and causing the clusters of freckles on her nose to bunch together. “Just don’t say anything to Ruby or Diana. For now. I’ll tell them later, but it’s nice to just chat with him again after a while.”

Cole nodded, fringe hopping across his forehead. “Sure.”

Anne pursed her lips together in a smile and stuck her pinky finger out to Cole. He passed her a knowing grin back and leaned forward to link his pinky to hers.

“Thanks, Cole.”

Before he could answer anything, they heard the sound of a key twisting in the lock. A second later, a flurry of pink scarves and blonde curls crowded the doorway.

“Hi, guys!” Ruby called, bustling in with her cello strapped to her back. It still looked positively comical to Anne that such a little human played such a bizarrely massive instrument and made it work. In fact, Ruby made it work really well. She had been shortlisted for the final in the CANIMEX music competition at seventeen and had been offered full music scholarships to five universities that Anne knew of. That girl was going places. With her cello in the plane seat right next to her.

“Yo Yo Ma’s protégé has decided to grace us with her presence; I’m honoured!” Cole exclaimed.

Ruby rolled her eyes and lifted the straps off her shoulder to stow the cello in the corner behind the kitchen table. “Diana’s not back yet, I suppose?” she asked over her shoulder as she went to the fridge to grab her reusable water bottle.

“Not yet,” Anne said. 

“Okey dokey,” Ruby replied, padding over to the circle of armchairs and plopping into the one she had claimed on their first day: a plain grey one that she had stylised with a fluffy baby pink cushion from home. “So what were you guys talking about?”

“The vast amount of weird and wonderful career opportunities on campus,” Cole replied, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “Did you know that student band music videos need extras?”

Anne threw Cole the world’s deadliest stink-eye, to which he just responded with an insufferably audacious wink. _He should count himself lucky that I can’t kick his shin from across the room_ , she thought.

* * *

The next morning arrived crisp as a harvest time apple, sunlight breaking in dimples amongst the pale golden leaves on the sidewalk. Anne hardly had time to notice all of the orange hues that mid-autumn had brought as she scurried off to her new favourite haunt before her 8 AM. The thought that she might run into a friend at the coffee shop put a spring in her step that she could not – or would not – bother explaining to herself.

So she had no idea why her cheeks suddenly flushed more deeply or why a second rabble of butterflies unexpectedly took flight in her stomach when she saw a familiar shock of dark curls already in the queue as she peeked in through the large windows of the coffee shop. Absolutely no idea at all.

She quickly smoothed her flyaways neatly back under her beanie, using her reflection in the coffee shop window as a mirror. Then she pinched her cheeks, despite them already being rather flushed. _From the cold, obviously_ , she told herself. Then she opened the door to be greeted by its charming tinkling and was enveloped by Meraki’s warm embrace, the smells of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet drinking chocolate hypnotising her olfactory senses. It was such a wonderful name to give a coffee shop, Anne had said to Diana when they first visited the space and Googled the meaning of its name. Meraki. It was a Greek word that meant you left a piece of your soul in your work. Anne could not think of anything more romantic than that.

“Anne!” the owner of the dark curls exclaimed, a grin spreading across his cheeks. _How lovely it makes his chin look_ , Anne thought before she coughed and looked at Gilbert in the eyes.

“Fancy seeing you here, Dr Blythe,” Anne said, trying for a nonchalant tone but settling more in the range of a pneumonic senior citizen.

Gilbert furrowed his brows as he walked over to her. “You alright? You sound like you have a throat that’s not best pleased with you.”

Anne cleared her throat again. “Nope, all good!” she said cheerily, definitely not overcompensating for her previous hoarseness at all.

Gilbert’s eyebrows turned upside down as he surveyed her. His eyes drifted to her neck, but back up to her face when he saw she was wearing a scarf.

Anne narrowed her eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“Well, tell that to your eyebrows.”

Gilbert laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shook his head. Anne noticed the freckles on his cheekbones seemed to bunch together when he smiled like that. “So, do you also have an 8 AM or do you just like getting to the library early?”

“Yes,” Anne said brightly, as she brushed past Gilbert to go reclaim his spot at the back of the line.

“Yes, you have an 8 AM or yes, you like to get good library seats?”

Anne’s felt her face flush a deeper shade of rouge and she turned away from Gilbert to mutter something like _I’ve an 8 AM Shakespeare lecture on Tuesdays_ before averting her gaze to the bag slung around her shoulder and almost viciously rummaging around for something that could turn back time ten seconds or so. Alas.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “So… the weather seems to be getting colder,” he ventured.

Anne couldn’t help the smile that willed its way onto her face. This sweet, dumb boy. How had she ever let their contact diminish when he started going to uni?

It seemed Anne waited a moment too long to respond because more words started to spill past his lips.

“But I see you– er… you’re prepared for it,” he grasped at words. “What with your hats and scarves and… things.”

Anne finally turned to look back at him. The skin beneath his light smattering of freckles also seemed to have been tinged more pink than usual. But she was probably just imagining that; it could just be from the cold.

“Er… yeah,” Anne said lamely, internally punching herself. _What the hell, Cuthbert?_ “Marilla reckoned I’d need all the warm layers I could get.”

A small sigh seemed to accompany the dropping of Gilbert’s shoulders. It was slight, but Anne felt his warm breath on her cheek from where they were standing close to one another in the line. Her eyes almost fluttered shut at the sensation, but Gilbert started speaking and Anne tried desperately to focus her attention on his eyes and not his mouth.

“Well, the winters here do feel colder than in Avonlea, I must say,” Gilbert said, glad he could offer her some knowledge that only a senior at the university would have. She was leaps and bounds ahead of him in so many other ways that he was relieved he could teach her something worthwhile and practical. “Dunno if they actually are,” he continued, “but they certainly feel it.”

Anne smiled at him as he shared his observation. “Maybe you just miss the comfort of home.”

Gilbert chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But the snow does start falling here sooner than it does in Avonlea, so maybe there is some truth in my empirical observations.”

“Ah, we have an Aristotle advocate on our hands here,” Anne teased, shuffling forward as the line shortened.

“Well,” Gilbert shrugged, “as a student of science, I am trusted and inclined to believe what my senses tell me. And what the senses of others taught them in the past as well, I suppose.”

Anne nodded. “There is a lot to say for believing that your senses tell you the truth.”

“Where do you stand on empiricism, then?”

“It has merit. You use your five senses, though, and I? I use my sixth sense. I believe that my eyes drink in the world so that my imagination can use and enhance and enchant those images as ingredients to cook up the most scrumptious stories one could ever tell.”

Gilbert tossed Anne a crooked grin as they moved further up the line. “You haven’t changed one bit, Anne-girl.”

Before Anne could decide whether or not his comment warranted a spontaneous flow of blood to her cheeks, the person at the counter was saying _next_. Less than five minutes later, Anne and Gilbert were strolling out of Meraki, their coffees in hand to assist the waking up of their cognitive faculties before class.

“Where’re you off to, then?” Gilbert asked.

“My Shakespeare class is in the Montgomery, so I’m going that way.” Anne pointed up the street and made an awkward swerve with her wrist to map her path.

“I’ll walk you then; it’s on the way to the lab I’m meant to be in,” Gilbert said.

The corner of Anne’s mouth twitched upwards. “Good to know.”

Gilbert was silent for a moment before he coughed and took a sip from his reusable cup. He winced at the black coffee burning the tip of his tongue.

“So…” Anne cast around for a topic, pursing her lips, and her brows knit together in thought. “Oh! Er, what’s happening with that music video you asked me to grace with my presence? That’s still happening, right?”

“Yes,” Gilbert replied, almost breathily, as though he had been waiting for an opportunity to discreetly let out a sigh. “Er… I talked to the rest of them this morning and they reckon we could do something by next weekend.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “Oh, so soon? That’s impressive!”

“Yeah, er… thanks?”

“No, I just mean you don’t have a recorded song yet and I’m assuming you need that before you can make a music video? Or am I completely wrong and should never say anything about band managing ever again?”

Gilbert laughed at her rambling and brushed his fingertips against her elbow to slow down her stream of consciousness. “No, you’re absolutely right; we need a song before we can do a music video. We’re recording it this weekend and I’ll send it to you once Moody and Charlie edit it.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Anne breathed. “Oh! Oh, okay. No, that makes sense. Wow, I didn’t know Charlie could do sound editing. You learn something new every day.”

“It does help to have a film and photography student on your side.”

“And two music students. Where the hell did you fall out, doc?” Anne teased, nudging him in the side with her elbow.

“Hey! Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. Garfunkel has a Master’s in maths, but that didn’t stop him from swaggering into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, thank you very much.”

A moment no longer than the space between two breaths passed, but Anne felt the butterflies in her stomach restart their journey to every corner of her limbs.

“Y- yeah,” she stammered out. “They aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows tangled together just above the bridge of his nose. “You alright, Anne-girl?”

Anne quickly blinked a few times, forcing herself to come back to the present. She could undo the knots her stomach had tied itself into when she was back at her flat. She offered Gilbert a smile that pushed the corners of her lips just close enough to her cheekbones to be believable. “’Course! You’re absolutely right. As long as you do something you love, you’ll always end up tipping a little bit of your soul into it. It sounds magical.”

Untangled eyebrows met Anne’s vision as she glanced to her side where Gilbert was contemplating her early morning philosophy. “No half measures?”

Anne grinned, looking back ahead of her and taking a sip of her drink. “No half measures.”

* * *

The autumn sun was just dipping below the horizon when Gilbert made his way down the street to the flat. Its rays made easy friends with the mess of leaves that were scattered around the trees on the sidewalk. Golden hour met golden season. A nature symphony in its finest movement. It was just gone half five and there was a hodgepodge of pedestrians and cyclists occupying the sidewalk. A few cars that hadn’t left at the hour were now scuttling down the street, on their way to a break from the plight that daylight brought. The footsteps and the whirring of bikes and the sound of rubber on gravel felt nothing short of harmonious to the young med student. Weeks spent hunkered over Petri dishes and textbooks in sterile and silent labs and libraries had made him appreciate “The Out” so much more than ever.

Gilbert grinned to himself when he thought of Dellie’s warbling voice saying “The Out” in lieu of “outside,” because she had had a lisp when she started speaking and avoided any words with an “s” in them until well after her fourth birthday. However, Mary had taken her to a speech therapist last December and Dellie no longer referred to her best friend as “Tharah”. Regardless of whether she had slowly shaken off the habit of avoiding “s” words, “The Out” had stuck in the Blythe-LaCroix vernacular. 

He missed them dearly, Gilbert realised. He would have to give them a call again sometime soon.

Before he could completely detangle himself from the memory of home, he had arrived at his current one. A few taps of his student card and an elevator ride later, he was unlocking the door to the flat to find a seemingly headless Moody at the kitchen table. The music student was completely hunched over the papers in front of him, his shoulder blades making waves with the back of his T-shirt.

“Er… Moody?” Gilbert asked, taking off his red plaid jacket and stowing his keys in the trinket tray that had come with the flat. “You okay?”

Moody didn’t even bother to turn around. He just shrugged, making his shoulder blades even more prominent, and muttered, “Alright, you?”

“What are you doing?”

“Can you help me with this?” Moody said, not exactly avoiding the question but definitely going about an unorthodox way of answering it.

Gilbert took a few tentative steps toward the table. It wasn’t unlike Moody to cry on occasion, but nothing in his voice had suggested that something that would induce tears was bothering him.

“I’m trying to write a song for the band,” Moody explained as Gilbert peeked over his shoulder. The workspace in front of Moody was scattered with legal padfolios, either stained with ink or half-crumpled an arm’s length away from Moody.

“Ah,” Gilbert said, dragging a chair out and gingerly settling himself into it.

“I started on the keyboard, but nothing’s working on it,” Moody moaned.

“Did you bring the keyboard here?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m switching over to the guitar for tonight. Else I’m never going to get anything written.”

“Can I lend the keyboard tonight, then?”

“Sure, just use your own headphones.”

Ten minutes later, Gilbert carefully settled the keyboard on his lap before leaning back and sinking into the pillows by his headboard. A keyboard didn’t have the range that the standard piano in his father’s house did, but it would do. He had been collecting snippets from sounds and songs that he had heard throughout the day and had stored them in his brain bank for when he came to write tonight. Sure, he had thought that he would get to lend Moody’s guitar this evening so that he could continue writing the song he had been working on. But that one – which he had tentatively titled “Up” – didn’t seem to be getting anywhere fast enough. So maybe it was a good idea to switch to a keyboard and a different song for the evening.

In fact, didn’t keyboards have a myriad of settings that he could use? Grabbing his glasses off the bedside table, Gilbert started fiddling around with the toggles and switches above the keys, tapping out a few arpeggios with each new button he pressed to figure out what it did.

Eventually, he settled on one that had been labelled ‘ _synthesiser_ ’ that produced a surprisingly breathy, yet distinctly electric tone. Satisfied with this discovery, he started playing around with some chords, pleased at the way the synthesiser made them sound exactly how he had pictured it. Out of his messenger bag that he had chucked on his bed, he fished out a sheet of lined music paper that he had nicked off of the kitchen table while Moody had been trying to find inspiration on the insides of his palms. Jotting down every chord progression that he ended up liking, he eventually built up to what he considered to be a solid sixteen bar intro.

Now came the lyrics.

He reached for his bag again, this time looking for a wrinkled piece of paper on which he had scrawled random lines that had popped into his head since yesterday. At one point during the day he had considered popping into the stationery shop at the Student Centre but had run late for his post-lunch class on the other side of campus, so decided he would do that later in the week.

Trying his best to iron out the creases of the page that hosted his odd collection of lyrics, Gilbert eventually settled on examining the lines that he thought would make its way into the chorus.

_You gotta grab the wheel and own it, // you gotta put the pedal down // and drive it like you stole it._

It had been based on his conversation with Anne that morning. Pouring a little bit of your soul into something you did. No half measures.

With a grin, Gilbert tore out a page from the back of one of his class notebooks and fleshed out the idea of driving that he’d latched onto. Maybe he should start the song with a line about a car? A few minutes later he sat with a few more lines on the torn out page on his lap, using the book that he had taken the page out of as a makeshift clipboard.

 _Out on the street, where you and I met_ _// I’m outta_ _there_ _here,_ _never_ _not_ _no turning back_

 _In_ _an old green_ _a baby blue Cadillac // Just when I was stalling // I heard_ _a dryad_ _a fairy_ _an angel calling_

 _Perhaps that wouldn’t work for the beginning of the song but it’s a good lead into the chorus_ , Gilbert reasoned with himself.

He sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing the place on the bridge of his nose where they had been resting. It would take time, but he was adamant to finish a song tonight. Especially since “Up” had not been as easy to write as he had hoped it would be. Taking in a deep breath and perching his glasses on his nose again, Gilbert hunched back over the keyboard.

A few hours and several dirty coffee mugs later, he emerged from his bedroom to find Moody on the sofa, guitar in his lap. More legal padfolios were scattered around the room, but this time Moody didn’t look like he was about to cry. In fact, he looked downright chuffed with himself. He glanced up when he heard Gilbert’s door creak open.

“You look smug,” Gilbert observed.

“Likewise, Blythe.”

“So, this is not going to be a total failure?”

A proud grin pushed against Moody’s cheekbones as he gestured for Gilbert to sit across from him. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much for reading chapter 3! pls leave kudos and/or a comment to sponsor a serotonin boost for me (i'm about to enter exam season so i might need it lol)
> 
> here are the songs that [gilbert](https://open.spotify.com/track/4rMN8vnOmVvQSMkXp6OLfv) & [moody](https://open.spotify.com/track/7zMfRNCOM6SIFdAss8a3aT) were working on if you wanted to hear more! and i also recommend that you go give my "up to the stars" [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/75hu2yhznq7YpPmsMHvPEy) a listen bc it has a lot of clues as to the plot of the story 👀
> 
> thanks again for being so lovely & supportive of this fic; i cannot even begin to put into words how much i appreciate it ❤️ if you want to find me to yell some more about the show or songwriter!gilbert wearing glasses or whatever, i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dashingwhitesgt) xxx


	4. What if everything beautiful's fiction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't keep you guys too long bc i know it's been a hot minute since i last updated this, but i just wanted to say thank you so much for all the incredible love & support i've received for this fic so far!! i absolutely wasn't expecting it and it makes me so happy that this fic has brought some joy to you guys as well 🥰 also, a massive shoutout to my ever lovely, every wonderful beta, [Becky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles). i can't thank you enough for everything, fam xxx
> 
> and on that note (pun intended), i hope you all enjoy chapter 4 <3

“I think we can really do something with these,” Moody said, as the last notes of Gilbert’s song drifted out of the speaker on the keyboard.

“You reckon?” Gilbert asked, excitement bubbling in his chest and almost making his fingers curl.

“Definitely,” Moody affirmed, getting up from where he had been sitting on the sofa. Making his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on, he asked over his shoulder, “What did you call yours, again? _Like you stole it_?”

“Drive it _like you stole it_ ,” Gilbert corrected, sitting back in his chair with the creased paper containing his lyrics in hand. His eyes scanned over every word he had written down since he had sat on his bed with the keyboard on his lap that evening. They were really making something happen here.

“It’s catchy,” Moody said. “I think people will really like it.”

“Thanks,” Gilbert said, feeling more pride for the little piece settle in the spaces between his ribs. “Have you got a name for yours, too?”

“I was thinking _Boys and girls_ but that doesn’t really give off the right vibes for the song,” Moody said, dropping his Earl Grey tea bag into the mug.

Gilbert nodded thoughtfully. “How about just _Boys_ or just _Girls_? Simple, but either way it’s part of the chorus.”

“Oh, that’s good. I might steal that idea,” Moody said, scribbling down Gilbert’s suggestion on one of the loose pages on the coffee table in front of him. “There’s some stuff I still want to tweak with mine. I really do like the sound of yours and I feel like we need to have them sort of fit together so it sounds like the same band, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense,” Gilbert agreed, leaning back into his armchair, a pleased little grin curling on his lips at the music student’s compliment.

Moody scooted forward, shuffling his papers together and trying to neaten them out before getting up to go stow them in his room. “Oh,” he said, turning around at the door, hand on the doorframe as he leaned back. “I wanted to ask, do you want me to transcribe what you’ve written on Sibelius for the others?”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, wariness colouring his features. “What’s that?”

“Oh, sorry,” Moody said, walking further back into the room as he explained. “It’s a programme that we’ve got access to at the conservatory where we can compose pieces. I figured that we’d all need our parts, because it’s obviously not just a piano part, like the one you’ve jotted down there.”

“Oh,” Gilbert muttered, looking back down at the rough sheet music he had thrown together to keep him from forgetting the chords that he had used as the basis for the song. “ _Oh_ , sure! Yeah, thanks, Moods. That’d be great.”

“No problem,” Moody said, holding his hand out for Gilbert to pass him the scribbles that they still had to string into a song. “It shouldn’t take too long. Pop songs are fairly straightforward, melodically speaking.”

Gilbert shrugged, pulling a slight face. “You’d know better than me.”

Moody chuckled, scanning his eyes over the music and nodding along to the beat that he was reading. “I really do love what you did with the syncopation. It’s quite advanced.”

“Well,” Gilbert smirked as he got up to go to the fridge to retrieve his reusable water bottle, “I’ve been told that some of the best musicians don’t need all that fancy training.”

Moody smacked Gilbert’s shoulder with the folio pages he still had in his hand. “I should’ve known better than to compliment an insufferable prick like you.”

“Bash would tell you that for nothing,” Gilbert muttered under his breath as Moody turned away from him.

“What’s that?” Moody said over his shoulder.

Gilbert gave a small cough to stifle the laugh he could feel pushing its way to his lips. “Nothing.”

“Hmm,” Moody said, walking back to his bedroom. But he only got as far as the doorframe once again before Gilbert interrupted his much-needed trip to Snoozeville.

“I’m sorry we have to throw these things together so quickly,” Gilbert said, the guilt in his tone reminding Moody of his younger brother’s voice whenever he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Moody turned back around to face Gilbert, leaning on the wall next to his door. He passed Gilbert a wry smile and a shrug. “’S alright. You were just trying to help me. If anything, I should be apologising to you.”

Gilbert breathed out a chuckle. “Nah, I’m the one that screwed up, but I’m glad that we’re okay.”

“‘Course we are; you’re my best friend. I don’t have the time or energy to look for another one, you idiot.”

“Oh, so this is just most convenient for you?” Gilbert quipped.

“Well, yeah. D’you know how much effort it is to find a roommate who will do your washing up for you if you only agree to let them borrow your vinyls every now and then?”

“Low maintenance indeed.”

“And all I have to occasionally do is to transcribe his shoddy attempt at a piano arrangement into something that hopefully won’t get our newborn band laughed off of the internet in five seconds flat,” Moody said.

“Speaking of which, how long do you reckon the transcribing will take?” Gilbert asked, realising that he didn’t really have a clue as to what was going on and may have to forgo banter for the sake of actually having a song next weekend when they did the music video with Anne. Oh _dear God_ , he hoped he wasn’t going to make a complete and total fool of himself.

“I can have it ready by tomorrow evening, if you want it by then,” Moody said, holding the pages in front of his face again, his forehead pinched together in concentration and his eyes zipping from left to right.

“Yeah, no. That’ll be all good. The sooner we can get to practice with the other two, the better, I reckon,” Gilbert said, also getting up from his seat and padding over the floor of the living space to go to his own bedroom.

“When did you think we should practice with the rest?” Moody asked.

“Er… Well, first of all, I’ve tried to get a drum set for Charlie,” Gilbert explained, folding his arms across his chest as he stood a foot away from his own bedroom door. At Moody’s confused expression, he added, “Because he doesn’t have one; he used to borrow the school’s one when he played marching band.”

“Sensible,” Moody said. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Well, then you can help me because I haven’t the first clue about where to start looking for a drum set.”

“Oh yeah, sure. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks,” Gilbert said, his shoulders visibly dropping further away from his ears as he rubbed his tired eyes. He still had another session of class reading ahead of him. _How am I going to do all of this?_ he thought to himself.

Moody must have seen the exhausted look on Gilbert’s face because the next second, Gilbert felt his roommate’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’ll be okay. We’re going to make everything work, bud. You’ll see.”

Gilbert looked up at Moody, wearing a close-lipped smile that dimpled his chin.

“Besides, you literally did this for my sake, so I’ve got to help you,” Moody shrugged, patting Gilbert’s shoulder once more before moving back to his room.

“Speaking of which, have you ran into any cute cellists at the conservatory lately?” Gilbert asked, suddenly reminded that he could just tease Moody if he ever needed to be cheered up. Maybe he shouldn’t be so hard on Bash for doing the same to him.

Moody narrowed his eyes at Gilbert before hissing, “ _Shut up_ ,” and closing his bedroom door on their conversation.

Gilbert snorted, a wisp of a smile playing on his lips as he returned to his bedroom. Scattered pieces of crumpled up paper were still decorating the hardwood floor.

* * *

Gilbert didn’t realise that when he’d given Moody his rough notes about the song that the music student would have whipped them into a digestible shape almost twenty-four hours later. And even less that they had managed to book a room and rent a drum set for Charlie by the time Friday evening rolled around.

So when he had arrived at the cramped little space in the conservatory that the faded plaque on the door announced to be _Practice Room 3041_ , Gilbert thought his luck would be changing very soon. There was no way things could be going so smoothly for the band when there were a million ways in which this could have gone wrong. Maybe his grades were going to take a nosedive, but he had managed to stay on top of things so far while only sacrificing a little bit more sleep than usual.

But, as Gilbert put his bags down and lifted the lid on the upright piano in the corner of the room, he tried to push those thoughts away. Maybe the fact that nothing had gone wrong had to do with the fact that he’d already made the biggest mistake he possibly could by telling Anne that he was in a band in the first place. Yeah, he’d go with that for now.

It wasn’t long until the rest of his bandmates started showing up and setting up. Gilbert greeted them with a nod as he rehearsed the chords on the piano, which wasn’t out of tune as Gilbert had feared it may have been, judging by the chipped state of its keys. It was actually quite comforting to Gilbert to be playing on a piano that other people may have used to compose their songs on before. He hoped some of the magic from their fingers would transfer through to his own.

“Thanks for not making the drumming too complicated,” Charlie had remarked to Gilbert as he settled onto the stool behind the drums, withdrawing his own set of drumsticks from his bag. Gilbert assumed that they must have been the only remnant of Charlie’s days being in the school marching band. That, and hopefully his skills.

“Can’t take too much credit for that,” Gilbert replied, getting off the piano stool and squatting down to set up the keyboard for him to play the synth chords that they needed in the song. “Moody did a lot of the harmonic fleshing out.”

“And he just decided that my bassline must be doo-do-do-doo?” Jerry asked, haughtily turning his nose up as he fidgeted with the tuning keys. “He doesn’t want me to look better than him.”

Moody snorted, “As if I need that to look better than you.”

“Besides not every song can have an _Under Pressure_ -esque bassline, Jerry,” Charlie quipped from behind the drum set where he was tuning the snare.

Jerry scoffed, about to say something before the amp that Gilbert had been fiddling with screeched with feedback and everyone’s hands flew to cover their ears.

“For fuck’s sake, Blythe!” Charlie cried out.

“Ah, sorry,” Gilbert mumbled, turning back the switch that had caused the noise.

“Well, that’s the technical problems out of the way for the night,” Moody said.

“Don’t jinx it,” Jerry muttered darkly.

“Hey Moods, could you pass the other cord, please?” Gilbert asked from where he was crouched on the floor next to the offending amp, the nylon carpet digging into his knuckles where he was trying to steady himself as he turned on his haunches.

“Yeah, just give me a second,” Moody said, awkwardly hopping across the floor to avoid knocking over anyone’s things and making it to the chairs that lined the wall by the door where he had set down the electric guitar case without any casualties.

“Are you sure we’ll need an electric guitar? Even just for practice?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Jerry said, as he started digging around for his own cables to slot into his bass. “I personally think it gives a way better sound when you play it back. Particularly if you’re going to want to use it over a music video.”

“Yeah, about the music video,” Moody said, making his hopscotch way back to Gilbert, “I still don’t think I’m done being pissed off at you that we’re supposed to be filming it next weekend, asshole.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry!” Gilbert replied, taking the lead from Moody and plugging it into the amp.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really seem like you’ve learnt your lesson,” Jerry said absentmindedly as he strummed a few chords on the bass.

“I still can’t believe your fingers aren’t furious at you for playing without a pick,” Moody said, eyes practically green with envy at the way Jerry effortlessly plucked at the four strings.

“Yeah, but it does mean I need to lick my fingers so the strings don’t stick together,” Jerry shrugged, lifting the middle and index fingers of his right hand to the tip of his tongue to illustrate. It always reminded Gilbert of the way that some people would lick their fingertips when turning the pages of a book.

Moody pulled a face at that. “Yeah, that cannot be sanitary.”

Jerry snorted, a grin making his eyes shrink to crescent moons. “Suit yourself, Your Majesty.”

“Right, I think I’ve got the drums right,” Charlie said from behind the cymbal as he was bending over to pick up the sheet music that had fluttered to the floor.

“Brilliant,” Gilbert said, easing up from where he had been crouched on the floor and handing Moody the end of the cord that he was supposed to plug into his guitar.

“Thanks, mate,” Moody said, tiptoeing his way back to where he had left his guitar.

“So, we’ll just give it a once through, d’you reckon?” Jerry asked, impatience colouring his tone. Gilbert was surprised to find that he wasn’t tapping the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Yeah, let’s see how far we get,” Moody said, ducking under his guitar strap before settling his fingers on the starting chords that he had been practicing in his room and in the cubicles at the conservatory in his spare moments between classes.

“I don’t come in immediately, right?” Charlie asked, brow furrowed as he scrutinised the sheet music he had been given.

“Yeah, so you come in at the end of the eighth bar,” Gilbert instructed Charlie. 

“And I come in on the fourth beat’s second half-beat, gotcha,” Charlie nodded, pointing at a spot on the page.

“Yeah, the chords are always syncopated on the last beat,” Moody added. “Don’t come in on the next bar; it’s always the bar before.”

“And we’re basically just playing the first eight measures again, except with the bass chords and drums, right?” Jerry asked.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Gilbert clarified. “I come in with the first verse, and then Charlie holds the beat while Moody keeps me in tune.”

Moody let out a stifled laugh. “Yeah, as long as I don’t forget the key change. And then, Jerry, we want bass back in the chorus, and from then on out. We’re gonna need all the power we can get.”

“It’s a good chorus,” Charlie commented, glancing further down the sheet music, a grin running up his cheeks. “If we ever get to a gig, I actually think people will enjoy singing this along.”

“Thanks, Charlie-boy,” Gilbert said, “but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right, you ready?”

“A-one, two, three, four,” Moody counted them in.

* * *

“We need a name,” Charlie said as they were packing up, causing the other three to completely drop what they were doing. Moody almost literally dropped his guitar, but luckily its strap was still secured around his shoulders.

“ _A name_ ,” Gilbert breathed, running his fingers through his hair as he always did when he was deep in thought.

“Okay well,” Jerry said, clapping his hands together and reaching for the handle on his guitar case. “Let’s not worry about that now. We can all think of stuff and then we’ll just talk about it some more when we practice again tomorrow.”

“I’m with Jerry,” Moody said, lifting the strap from around his shoulders and returning his guitar to its case.

“It doesn’t really matter when we pick it, though, does it?” Charlie asked.

Gilbert shrugged. “As long as we have it by the time we want to post the music video. Oh! That reminds me. Charlie.”

The man in question spun around from where he had been packing his drumsticks into his messenger bag. “What?”

“Will you be cool to direct our music video next weekend?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing fancy,” Gilbert said hurriedly, before Charlie could back out of it. “It’s just we need someone who’ll have some semblance of artistic vision and you’ve made short films and stuff before, so…”

“Sure,” Charlie shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking over to the door. “I’ll have some stuff for you guys to look at tomorrow.”

“Thanks, mate,” Moody said.

“Yeah, appreciate it,” Gilbert said.

“Right, so same time, same place tomorrow?” Jerry asked.

“Be there, be square,” Gilbert affirmed.

* * *

Their Saturday evening practice session came and went, and soon they were all heading out of the conservatory. Outside, the moon bloomed like a white rose in the uncharacteristically cloudless evening sky. Its petals were scattered in the surrounding darkness. 

Four pairs of footsteps beat the pavement on their way to Meraki for a last brainstorm before recording the song the next day. Upon their arrival, Jordan had waved over to Gilbert and came over to take their orders.

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” Jordan asked Gilbert when they got back to the table with the band’s hot beverages.

Gilbert shrugged. “Things needed doing, but they’re getting there.”

Jordan smiled at him, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, hope all goes well. I’ll see you tomorrow before your 8AM?”

“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Gilbert affirmed.

Jordan smiled and nodded at him before they headed back to the counter. Gilbert turned his attention back to the conversation happening at the table. It had taken a bit of a turn from instrumentations since he had last said anything.

“So, we need to think of a name,” Moody said, gingerly wrapping his fingers around the mug of tea that Jordan had brought him.

“A what?” Charlie said, his eyebrows turning upside down.

“A band name, Charlie-boy. We talked about this yesterday, keep up,” Jerry said, rolling his eyes as he took a sip of the still-steaming dark roast coffee that he had ordered. Gilbert had to admire Jerry’s inability to be burned by hot coffee. Or perhaps it was just Jerry’s sheer unwillingness to care about something as mundane as a scalded tongue from a freshly boiled beverage.

“Well, first things first, have any of you thought of anything? Let’s start there,” Moody said diplomatically, trying to snuff any fires of arguments between Jerry and Charlie before they had even taken flame properly.

“I’m here against my will, so…” Charlie drawled, earning him a kick from Jerry under the table. “Ow! Okay, fine!” He rubbed his shin from where the toe of Jerry’s trainer had hit him. “I forgot, but I’ll try and think of something, geez.”

“I only have a couple of this-and-that ideas, but I thought we could maybe have it be a pun?” Moody suggested, only to be greeted with an exaggerated groan from Jerry.

“The only good pun that ever came from a band name was a little British group called The Beatles, and I seriously doubt whether anyone’s topping that anytime soon,” Jerry said.

“Well, alright,” Moody said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But if I were you, I’d only start criticising people if I actually had any ideas myself.”

“And what are these ideas you have?” Jerry asked Moody.

“Well, speaking of The Beatles, I had The Avonlea Lonely Hearts Club as a suggestion,” Moody said, pulling up the notes app on his phone. “But if you wanted a pun, I have the Rite of Fall–“

“The what?” Charlie asked.

“It’s a Stravinsky reference,” Jerry said idly, throwing back his head as he downed the last of his coffee.

“Why the fuck would I know who Stavinsky is?”

“ _Stra_ -vinsky, Charlie-boy,” Gilbert corrected. “And you literally live with a music student. He’s definitely had to listen to that mad bastard for class.”

“You forget that I’m like a cat: I don’t care and I’m permanently asleep,” drawled Charlie.

Gilbert snorted as he sipped his chai tea. He had started to drink it more often since the first time he had run into Anne at Meraki and saw she had ordered it. “Actually, I thought of a pun,” Gilbert said, trying to distract his mind from going down the path of thinking about Anne. Because that was a path that he was all too happy to walk down, but wasn’t at all constructive to their choosing a band name.

Jerry raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. “And?”

“How about Stratford-on-Avonlea?” Gilbert asked tentatively.

“Is that supposed to be a Shakespeare pun?” Charlie asked, the corners of his mouth fighting against the smile that wanted to stretch onto his face.

“Well firstly, I’m surprised you got that after Stravinsky-gate. And secondly, yes.”

“You fucking nerd.”

“I kinda like it,” Jerry said, mouth pinched into an impressed smirk.

“Really?” Gilbert asked, surprised at Jerry’s reaction.

“Yeah, it’s nice and I haven’t come up with anything better, so…” Jerry shrugged.

“I like it too,” Moody nodded. “It’s memorable enough as well, which is good.”

“So, we’re Stratford-on-Avonlea now?” Gilbert asked with bated breath, hardly daring to believe that the ridiculous name, one that had come to him when he was thinking of things that Anne liked, was going to be the name by which they would be referred to.

“Stratford-on-Avonlea,” Moody murmured again, as if it was an acquired taste that he had just started getting used to.

“We sound like a theatre group for nerds,” Charlie said.

“Piss off,” Jerry replied.

* * *

As the sun was setting on the chilliest Sunday evening that the campus had experienced so far that autumn, Gilbert and Moody made their way to a pitstop at Meraki before going to the conservatory. Rogue leaves danced at their feet and gusts of wind swept fringes into their eyes. But the anticipation of recording his very own song for the first time made Gilbert’s heart rate pick up so much that he was having no trouble generating the body heat necessary for him to remain warm in the bitter air.

“You ready?” Moody asked as they reached _Practice Room 3041_. His fingers hovered on the doorknob, but he had fixed Gilbert with a look that said, “You don’t have to do this for me.”

Gilbert gulped back the lump in his throat, taking a deep breath. 

Moody furrowed his eyebrows, letting go of the doorknob and turning his full attention to Gilbert.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Gilbert nodded, leaning to the doorknob himself and pushing the door open. “Let’s make some music.”

* * *

Less than an hour later, they had finished. Moody had decided to stay behind at the conservatory to work on a composition project. So, Gilbert made his own way home, stumbling through the streets of the university town in a complete daze, the adrenaline of the whole experience still thrumming in his veins, like the vibrations of the guitar strings that had been buzzing in his head for the past hour.

 _And suddenly it’s a perfect Sunday_ , he composed in his head. He smiled softly, remembering Anne’s face when he told her about the band for the first time. _And everything is more real than life._

And suddenly he was sprinting back towards his flat, messenger bag hitting him on his side, unable to stop the lyrics from coming into his head. The block came into sight–

_I think I’m back in the dream._

He fumbled with his student card at the door–

_I think I’m back on the ceiling._

He crashed into the flat, hair flailing every which way, eyes and hands looking for the paper on which he had written the rest of the song. They were on his bedside table–

_It’s such a beautiful feeling._

He scribbled down the lyrics before adding them to some of the ones that he’d written before.

_Going up, she lights me up, she breaks me up, she lifts me up._

Gilbert’s breath was racing by the time he realised he needed the guitar to figure out the chords. His fringe was plastered to his face. Whether it was sweat from the run back or the sheer frenzy of trying to locate everything that he needed to write down the song, he didn’t know.

Before he made it to the living room, his phone buzzed. The first thing that tied him back to reality. Gilbert fished it out of his pocket.

 **Charlie:** [Audio file attached]

 _Oh, yes._ They had recorded a version of it on Charlie’s phone right at the end to send to Anne. At Gilbert’s suggestion and Moody’s insistence. Gilbert quickly opened the message, sending it off to Anne before the music from that song clouded his ideas for the music for the song he had just been working on.

Then he went to find the guitar that Moody had left on the sofa to figure out the chords that he wanted to use for _Up_. He was just about to start on the chorus when his phone buzzed again. Anne’s name blinked across the screen before it went black again. Gilbert’s mouth went dry.

_What if she hated it?_

He took in a deep breath before reaching across the table, the metal of the phone cool underneath his fingertips. And he unlocked his phone.

 **Anne:** Did you write this, Gil?

His heartbeat ascended to his throat. But he calmly tapped out his reply.

 **Gilbert:** Yeah, this one’s mine

Gilbert held his breath while he watched Anne typing, the ellipsis at the bottom of the screen taunting him mercilessly.

 **Anne:** I hope whichever hospital takes you knows that you could have just as easily been performing sold-out concerts rather than surgeries

A flush coloured Gilbert’s cheeks as he read her response to the recording. He took a deep breath before typing out his reply.

 **Gilbert:** You’re just saying that because you don’t want to be in a music video for a shoddy song

 **Anne:** So much for trying to be diplomatic :’)

Gilbert couldn’t think of how to reply to that, but luckily another message from Anne popped up in the chat before his lack of response became too awkward.

 **Anne:** What time do you need me on Saturday?

Gilbert’s heart stuttered at her phrasing. He knew she was talking about when he needed her for the music video, but Anne didn’t ever use words unintentionally. They were part of her. She had grimy vowels underneath her fingernails and silvery metaphors braided into her hair. She breathed to the beat of the iambic pentameter and had blackout poetry written in her freckles. She was all the novels and anthologies in the world, but also entirely her own.

Gilbert glanced back down at his phone.

 **Anne:** What time do you need me on Saturday?

 _All the time_ , Gilbert thought. _Every Saturday. And all the days in between._

But he just wrote:

 **Gilbert:** 10AM okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and Stratford-on-Avonlea is finally underway!! and even though we didn't get any direct shirbert interaction this time round i hope that gilbert being a pining mess made up for it :')
> 
> if you wanted to listen to any of the songs i've mentioned in this chapter, they're all in my ["up to the stars, she shows me" playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/39hz63jKZMHdGPsjByVopv?si=-7bFdiKZQvy9-x9KsTk-ZQ). and if you wanted to yell at me about anything shirbert-related or otherwise, pls do so on my [ twitter](https://twitter.com/dashingwhitesgt)!!
> 
> lastly, thank you so much for reading, darlings ❤️ please leave a comment/kudos if you feel so inclined as i am feeling poorly atm and every bit of creative validation is equivalent to getting a shot of serotonin injected directly into my main arteries. i hope you all have a lovely week, are staying safe & are having a wonderful festive time :))))


	5. I hitch a ride on a dream she's driving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof it's been a bloody while since my lil fic baby's been updated, eh? apologies for that, but i do hope that the fact that this is the longest chapter i've ever uploaded (almost 7k words?? that's major for little old me 🙈) somewhat makes up for it!!
> 
> as always, my thanks to the gem that is [becky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles), without whose constant enthusiasm, i'd probably have tapered off at chapter 2. also, go read every single fic she's written for clear skin & watered crops x
> 
> i don't have much to say over here without spoiling anything in the chapter for you, so i just hope you enjoy the ride and i'll see you again in the end note & comments <3

The darkness outside was falling faster than usual when Anne had finished her Friday classes. Anne wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck as she waited for Diana outside the Beckett Building where she had her final piano tutorial for the week. She had been trying to reread  _ Much Ado About Nothing  _ to prepare for her class test that next week, but every time Benedick and Beatrice’s quarrels graced its pages, her vision went hazy and she found herself ever closer to misplacing her concentration. It was that damned lovely,  _ sweet  _ text that she had received from Gilbert that past Tuesday evening. It had been seared into her mind. 

**Gilbert:** _ Hi Anne-girl, I hope your study group went well today. I didn’t want to bother you, but just wanted to say thank you again for being in our music video. The band wouldn’t be the same without you. I’ll see you Saturday, have a good week :) _

Anne was sure if someone were to examine her brain, that message would be branded on her pituitary gland and have been responsible for all of her lapses in focus since Wednesday morning. Why, why, why was he making it so difficult for her to keep her head on straight?

And anyway, who still sends thank you texts like that? And he had remembered that her study group met on Tuesdays. She was almost glad that she had taken an early night on Tuesday, because his text had arrived on her lockscreen at around eleven and she surely wouldn’t have slept a wink if she had had to formulate a response to it before bedtime. She chose to ignore the fact that her answer to his text had stolen precious sleep from her since Wednesday. That message, too, had been taking up prime real estate in her brain, albeit for entirely different reasons.

**Anne:** _ Thanks, Gil! You’re never a bother, it was just splendid to receive such a munificent message from you. It made my dreary Wednesday morning quite a bit brighter, so I should really be thanking you. See you on Sat xx _

Why did she sound so uncharacteristically formal? Why had she used “munificent” instead of “generous” like a normal person? And, most im-fucking-portantly, why had she signed off with two X’s like she was twelve years old? Sure, in this day and age, X’s no longer _necessarily_ meant kisses or whatever, but since she was basing her text conversations with Gilbert Blythe on what things _might_ necessarily mean, then she was knee-deep in overthinking. Besides, what did he think of the message and how was she supposed to decipher that from the cryptic blushing face emoji that he’d sent as a response?

“Hey!” Diana’s voice broke through Anne’s thoughts, causing her textbook to go flying over the cement sidewalk outside the lecture building.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Anne muttered to herself as she scrambled from her seat to retrieve the book from where it had landed by a pile of leaves.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were so deep in thought,” Diana apologised, taking Anne’s bag from the bench that she’d been sitting on and handing it to her.

Anne brushed the dried leaf crumbs on her book off its cover before taking her bag from Diana’s outstretched hand with a subdued, “Thanks.”

“So I take it your day wasn’t the best?” Diana asked, raising her hand to give Anne a slight squeeze on the shoulder as they made their way back to their flat.

Anne heaved a sigh as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder to keep it from snagging her loose hair. “It wasn’t awful. My mind’s just not been very happy with sticking to the present, is all.”

Diana offered Anne a slight smile, even though Anne didn’t see it as her gaze was fixed on her shoes shoveling the leaves on the pavement out of her way. “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Diana said, taking her hand away from Anne’s shoulder and slipping it into her coat pocket, “how about we have a nice cup of ginger tea when we get back home, and then you can go to the library with Cole afterward. He told me this morning he needs some references for a paper that’s due next week, and I know he’ll want some company. And truth be told, I’m properly knackered from spending all week at the piano and I just want an early night before tomorrow’s audition.”

“Thanks, Di,” Anne replied, looking sideways at her friend. “I think I’ll go with Cole.”

“Great,” Diana said, exhaling a sigh. From relief that Anne hadn’t put up a fight about her suggestion or that she wouldn’t have to accompany Cole to the library on a Friday evening, Anne would never know.

They made the rest of their way to the flat in relative silence, Anne asking Diana about how her preparation for tomorrow morning’s string orchestra audition was going. Apparently they auditioned the pianos on the last day. Ruby had had her audition on Thursday and was anxiously waiting to hear back from the conductor, even though all three of her roommates had done their best to persuade her that she had nothing to stress about. Diana’s nerves, Anne could see, were frail but she had always had this eerie calm about her whenever it came to performing. Whether that was down to confidence or just belief that she had prepared as much as she could, Anne could never tell. It was one of the things that she admired most about Diana: her ability to completely suppress her nerves before an audition or concert or recital. Diana’s doubts always kicked in afterward, but Anne reasoned that it was far easier to deal with doubts than nerves. Doubts can be assuaged or one can find a distraction from them, but nerves were a whole different species of emotion.

With information about Diana’s audition filtering in through the Gilbert-shaped cracks in her thoughts, they soon arrived at their flat and Anne set about making them some tea as she waited for Cole to return so she could accompany him to the library. Diana disappeared into her room for a moment while she sorted out her sheet music for the next morning. Anne set their tea on the coffee table and curled onto her mottled lilac armchair, phone in hand, and automatically clicking onto the chat she had with Gilbert. She reread his text as though she couldn’t recite it in her sleep. Then she reread her reply as though it didn’t make her stomach cave in on itself.

“Alright, Anne,” Diana said, marching back into the living room and seeing the wrinkle that always made her eyebrows knit together whenever she was lost in thought. It was a look that Diana was well-acquainted with. She plopped down on her dark purple armchair with embroidered forget-me-nots scattered all over the fabric. “I know that there’s something wrong that you’re not telling me about.”

Anne looked at her bosom friend, the crease between her eyebrows never faltering as she fiddled with the tag on her teabag. Then she allowed herself to see the telltale signs of genuine concern on Diana’s face – the way the corners of her mouth pulled downwards and her dimples became prominent without her having to smile to put them there – and Anne finally gave in.

“How?”

Diana passed her a smile, allowing the dimples in her cheeks to deepen. “Because you’re never this quiet unless you’re worried about something. Now, spill.”

“Okay, fine,” Anne said, taking a deep breath. “I’m just really overthinking a message that I sent to someone earlier this week and I don’t know if I said the right thing or if they’re mad at me or think I’m mad as a March hare or–“

“Anne,” Diana said gently, leaning forward on her armchair and setting her tea mug back on the coffee table so that she could lay her hand on Anne’s knee. She gently ran her thumb over the corduroy of Anne’s trousers as she said, “You don’t have to tell me who the message was for or what it said if you don’t want to, but can I just ask you a question?”

Anne glanced up from where she had been staring at the contents of her mug. One of the tea leaves had come out of the teabag and it was swirling on the surface of the reddish-brown liquid as Anne breathed over it. She met Diana’s concerned gaze and nodded.

“Was the message to Gilbert?”

There was no use hiding it, Anne reasoned with herself, so she mumbled, “Mm-hmm.”

Diana pursed her lips as she nodded to Anne’s answer. “Do you want to talk about why you’re overthinking the message? Was it about tomorrow’s shoot?”

“Yes and no,” Anne answered quietly, lifting her tea mug to take a sip. Diana’s hand was still on her knee.

“Alright,” Diana said. “May I say something about that?”

Anne shrugged.

“I can’t speak for Gilbert, but I don’t think that he would have asked you to be in their music video in the first place if he thought you were ‘mad as a March hare,’” Diana lifted the weight of her hand from Anne’s knees to make air quotes. The loss of warmth from Diana’s palm made Anne glance up to watch her friend.

She smiled slightly.  _ Fair enough _ .

“Besides,” Diana said, sitting back onto her chair and gingerly taking a sip from her own tea, “who really knows what’s going on in that mind of his. I mean, is he a med student or is he a musician? Nobody knows."

Anne’s smile widened at that and she breathed out a laugh.  _ He’d be exceedingly happy to hear that _ , she thought, her mind first drifting back to the previous week when he’d informed her about Garfunkel’s dual aptitude for music and mathematics. And then her thoughts drifted even farther back to a slightly vaguer memory. It became clearer the longer she spent reaching towards it, akin to clouds being drawn apart like curtains to reveal a summer sky.

When they had been together in Advanced English class, they had to do a book swap with the person sitting next to them. Gilbert had handed his copy of  _ Leaves of Grass _ to her while she had lent him her copy of  _ Jane Eyre _ . The anthology had clearly been very well-loved: the pages were Bible-thin from use, had many dog-eared pages and countless notes in the margin. However, she remembered him specifically marking  _ Song of Myself  _ for her to read. 

“I think you might find Whitman a kindred spirit in it,” he had explained, a grin adorning his chuffed face.

So, on the first evening during which she had the book in her possession, she had turned to the page marked with a sticky note on which Gilbert had simply written  _ For Anne _ . Her grade ten self had not thought too much of it at the time, but whenever she remembered that note (or had stumbled upon it in her box of treasures), her heart enthusiastically made her very aware of its presence.

The whole poem had been lovely, as she had suspected, but there was one line that had particularly stuck with her – and it must have been important to Gilbert, too, as it had not only been underlined, but also enclosed in square brackets and the page dog-eared.

‘Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large – I contain multitudes.’

Suddenly she remembered telling Cole something to that effect just last week too and so, feeling a bit too self-conscious to admit to Diana that those words of Walt Whitman that Gilbert had introduced her to were still living rent-free in her brain, she said, “Well, isn’t it a nice thought that we can seem like two completely different people to others, by still feel completely ourselves in our heart of hearts?”

Diana looked up, clearly having taken a walk through the paths of her own mind whilst Anne had been reminiscing. She was entirely too used to Anne’s occasional need to just sit in silence and think sometimes. However much her bosom friend loved a hearty conversation, silence sometimes offered advice that no human language had yet managed to capture. 

A knowing smile curled the corners of Diana’s mouth upwards. “I’m glad to see that you’re seeming more yourself now.”

Anne heaved a sigh of relief, her shoulders visibly dropping away from her ears as the familiar glint in her eyes returned to its rightful place. “Thank you for talking me through it, darling Diana,” she replied, getting up and pressing a kiss to Diana’s cheek.

Diana just shook her head, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders, as she watched Anne take their tea mugs to the kitchen to wash up and disappear into her room until Diana instructed Cole to take her to the library with him when he returned.

* * *

“Anne?”

At the sound of her name, she swivelled around so quickly she almost didn't even realise that she actually knew the voice that was calling her. She would recognise that voice anywhere.

“Gilbert?” she said as she walked closer to him, completely oblivious to Cole standing behind her. “What are you doing here?”

Gilbert pulled at the strap of his messenger bag around his shoulder. “I could ask you the same question. I’m here to study for my test on the nervous system next week. You?”

“Oh, I’ve also got a test,” Anne said, trying not to ponder on the irony of Gilbert studying the nervous system too much as she pulled her text of  _ Much Ado About Nothing _ that she’d brought along with her out of her bag. “The bard himself.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Gilbert’s mouth, and the familiar creases by his eyes that scrunched up the clusters of freckles on his cheekbones that Anne couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. “I suppose you’re also making up for lost time, with tomorrow being the music video and all that?”

Anne breathed out a laugh, slipping the book back into her bag to avoid Gilbert’s gaze for just a moment. It was a bit jarring to have him looking at her like that all the time. 

“Uh, yeah. Diana said Cole needed a chaperone, because he is physically incapable of visiting a studying establishment on a lone mission,” Anne said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as she pointed back at Cole who was standing texting someone, seemingly unbothered by the conversation that Anne and Gilbert were having.  _ The key word being ‘seemingly,’  _ Anne thought.  _ There’s no way he’s not going to want to know every single thing this boy said. _

“Oh well, that’s munificent of you to accompany him, then,” Gilbert said brightly, looking back over his own shoulder. 

Anne’s heart felt like it had gone over a speed bump.  _ Did he just say ‘munificent’?? What does that– _

“Charlie was supposed to be joining me,” Gilbert’s voice interrupted her train of thought as he looked back at her.

She tried to school her features into something resembling interest in whatever Charlie had gotten up to.

“But he had to run off to the bathroom and it looks like I’ve lost him now.”

Anne snorted. “Did you drag poor old Charlie out here on a Friday night?”

“The real question is what in heck is Cole MacKenzie doing in the library on a Friday evening? Isn’t there another pub crawl on tonight?”

“Apparently he’s a couple references short of handing in a paper for a class. But I’d keep quiet about that pub crawl or I’ll have to walk back to the flat by myself which I don’t really fancy.”

“And you think I’d let a lady walk back by herself on a campus full of increasingly drunk students?”

“Perhaps not, but I don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of your reputation of ‘dragon-slayer’ or what have you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever paint you guilty of taking advantage of me, Anne-girl,” Gilbert replied in a slightly lower voice than before, its teasing edge rounding off into something more gentle. Even for the entrance to a library, his tone was very soft.

Anne couldn’t think of what to say to that, so she was just about to stammer her way though the first syllables that came to mind when Cole appeared at her shoulder. 

“Long time, no see, Dr Blythe,” Cole said.

“Hi, Cole,” Gilbert said, a flush climbing high onto his cheekbones. Anne wondered if it had to do with what else Gilbert looked like he was about to say before Cole had put his phone away and joined them.

“I hear you’re in a band now,” Cole said, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. To Anne, who knew him much better than Gilbert, that was the key indicator that he wasn’t going to ask any questions in order to get the information that he wanted.

Anne was about to turn his prompt into something resembling an actual question, but Gilbert beat her to it.

“Uh yeah, we’re shooting the music video for our first song tomorrow,” Gilbert said, gaining confidence with each word as Cole nodded along to his explanation. “Anne might’ve told you, but she’s going to be there tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know,” Cole said, his face the very picture of mischief. “She’s not shut up about it all week.”

Anne shot Cole a look that would have been fatal if thunderous eyes could project lightning. But she also realised that Gilbert was looking at her now with quirked eyebrows, so she passed off her pursed lips as a smile as she directed her response to her thrifted Doc Martens. “It’s quite a novelty to be in a video for a band,” she started explaining, rather satisfied that she was able to think of such an answer on the spot. “If it were you, I doubt the situation would have been any different.”

Cole rolled his eyes. “We’ll agree to disagree, Queen Anne.”

Gilbert glanced between the two friends who seemed to be having a very heated argument with their eyes. He was almost glad that Charlie chose that moment to arrive, because he wasn’t quite sure how to break up a completely silent debate without being impolite.

“Do we have company?” Charlie asked, causing Anne and Cole to turn their attention from each other.

Anne glanced down at the familiar pattern of the printed T-shirt Charlie wore that proclaimed  _ Bisexuals are only confused by your ignorance  _ in a pink, purple and blue gradient. A grin nearly split her face in two as she pointed at the text and squealed, “Did you also get that at Toronto Pride this summer?”

Charlie glanced down at his shirt and, grinning, looked back up. “Yeah, I did! Gilbert also got one, but he said we can’t both wear the same T-shirts to the library, because he has some sort of rep to uphold or whatever the fuck it is he said. I never really pay attention.”

“I said I don’t want to be associated with you if you make a noise in the library again,” Gilbert muttered.

Anne snorted and Gilbert threw her a small grin as he blithely rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what it was,” Charlie said, pointing his thumb at Gilbert. Then he looked back at his bandmate. “You know you really should get over that  _ one _ time I spilled my coffee over myself, ya brave little cis boy.”

“That’s why the library doesn’t let you bring hot drinks in here,” Gilbert said reasonably.

“Well, I cleaned it up myself and walked around with a Steve Johnson-esque design on my jumpsuit for the rest of the damn day. What more punishment would you want from me?”

“As much as I’d genuinely love to hear more about this coffee spilling,” Anne started, extracting her Shakespeare textbook from her bag again and waving over her shoulder, “I have some ‘doths’ and ‘wherefores’ to memorise, so I’ll catch you all in a bit, gentlemen.”

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Gilbert said, brushing past the other two and following Anne to the desk area of the library. “Charlie was looking for references anyway; he won’t need me for a while.”

Anne smiled to herself as he fell into step beside her. Perhaps Diana’s idea of coming to the library on a Friday evening wasn’t such a bad idea, even if she had run into the very reason why she had needed a date with her books.

* * *

With Anne and Gilbert gone, Cole and Charlie turned to each other.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” Cole said, extending his hand towards Charlie.

“We have,” Charlie replied, but shook Cole’s hand nonetheless. At Cole’s furrowed brow, Charlie clarified, “I was in a poor excuse of a costume at the time, though.”

This made Cole’s frown deeper still and Charlie laughed.

“Does marching band ring any bells?” Charlie prompted.

A half-smirk came onto Cole’s lips, “I mean, yes it does. But that’s not what you’re–  _ Oh!  _ You were the one that played the whole bunch of drums,” he said, eyes widening in realisation as he mimicked playing the quartet of drums that Charlie would have played during a marching band performance.

“The quad toms, yes,” Charlie said, a laughing tone colouring his voice.

“Well, I’m sure that your many expertise are carrying this band that Anne has been telling me about.”

“Tell me about it,” Charlie drawled. “My shoulders are cramping up from carrying those nerds.”

Cole snickered, shouldering his bag. “By the way, you’re right. Those marching band costumes were an atrocity.”

Charlie pulled a face and shuddered melodramatically. “Those were dark days.”

“Tell me about it,” Cole said.

“So, did Anne drag you all the way here tonight?” Charlie asked, as they went to swipe their student cards at the front desk.

“Shockingly enough, I am here by my own choice,” Cole drawled, keeping his voice low as he made his way down the ramp to the reference books. “I needed a couple of references for a paper I’ve due next week and I wanted to convince Anne to let me tag along tomorrow to the music video and the only way she’d say yes is if I did work tonight.”

“Sneaky,” Charlie said. “Well, I need a couple of references too, so this isn’t me stalking you. It’s me completing my mission of not failing my degree.”

“A noble mission indeed,” Cole agreed. “What’re you studying that you need the Arts section for?”

“Film,” Charlie replied. “Which is partly why Gilbert bullied me into making this music video of his. You?”

“Visual Art,” Cole answered. “I hate job security.”

Charlie snorted, gesturing to the Arts reference books. “Don’t we all?”

* * *

Anne thought that their study session was quite good, considering. Sure, Anne had not been able to completely restrain herself from shooting Gilbert furtive glances every so often. He was sitting across from her _and_ _wearing glasses_ , for crying out loud. She was absolutely _not_ at fault for wanting to copy the image of Gilbert with messy hair and glasses into the inside of her eyelids. 

However, she had an idea that she wasn’t the only one guilty of such a crime as stealing glimpses of their desk partner and that, more than anything else, succeeded in calming her frayed nerves enough so that she could focus on the battle of wits between Beatrice and Benedick.

About half an hour into their silent revision, during one of Gilbert’s own brief looks at the redhead on the other side of the table, he was reminded of the very text that she was currently revising and whispered, “ _ Hey _ ,” to her.

Anne had glanced up, almost confused that anything would prompt Gilbert to speak while he was studying. She had raised her eyebrows at him, calling his attention to the fine strawberry blonde hairs that allowed her to accomplish such a facial expression. It almost completely derailed his entire train of thought – the notion of softly tracing the pads of his fingers along the outlines of her eyebrows, and then lower, to come close enough to her eyelashes to be able to figure out how it was possible for them to be so long and not hopelessly tangled up at all hours of the day…

“What is it, Gil?”

Her voice, barely louder than a breath, drew his attention back to her eyes. “Th-the play you’re reading–“

“What about it?” Anne asked, looking genuinely interested in what he had to say.

“I thought you might like to know that we have decided to call the band Stratford-on-Avonlea. You know, to acknowledge the fact that music is really poetry in motion and all that,” Gilbert explained, feeling more and more lame as his explanation progressed.

But Anne’s eyes lit up from a misty ocean grey to a brilliant periwinkle and suddenly nothing resembling doubt could ever dream of making its home in Gilbert’s heart. “Oh, why didn’t you say something before?!” she exclaimed, keeping her voice low. “How will I ever be able to study now, knowing that you’ve chosen an ever-so-enchanting name? I honestly expected nothing less.”

Gilbert grinned, glad that he could make her smile. He would give anything to make her eyes light up like that every day for the rest of his life. “I’m glad you like it, Anne-girl. Don’t want you associated with a band that doesn’t pay homage to the very Bard that you’re examining.”

“Just so,” Anne affirmed, still grinning as she returned her study notes.

For the rest of the hour, they sat in amicable silence, only the white noise of students outside the building, the rustling of turning pages and the shuffle of students’ feet as they left the library were audible.

Gilbert glanced at his watch and suddenly remembered that he had left Charlie Sloane of all people to their own devices in a library. Maybe that wasn’t bull in a china shop bad, but it was at least canary in a clothing store bad. Glancing up at Anne, he realised that she had also left Cole to do his thing.

“Er, Anne?” he ventured.

She tilted her head towards him without looking up, her frown loosening its grip on her concentration but her lips still pouted. “Yeah?”

“Do you maybe need to check up on Cole? I’m just gonna shoot Charlie a text and let him know I’m still here if he was looking for me.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll do the same,” Anne said, never making eye contact with Gilbert or even moving her eyes from the page as she leaned over to retrieve her phone from her bag.

Gilbert shook his head, laughing inwardly to himself at her strange antics as her eyes finally slid to her phone only once she had unlocked it. He slid his phone closer and quickly let Charlie know he was going to be a little while longer.

Meanwhile, Anne made her own inquiries. She did think it strange that Cole hadn’t come to find her if he had left the library. Luckily he’d answered swiftly.

**Anne:** you guys still looking for references?

**Cole:** sorry, I forgot to let you know we’re leaving

**Anne:** together??

**Cole:** you have no respect for my double messaging system, you know that?

**Cole:** apparently Charlie hadn’t seen parasite yet and it’s playing at pulp, so we’ve gone to watch it

**Anne:** oooooooh and to think I thought *I* was going to be the one on the receiving end of teasing this evening

**Cole:** shut up

**Cole:** ur still in for a fat amount of teasing when I get back

**Anne:** but now I’ve got blackmail on yooooooou

**Cole:** gotta go, the movie’s started

**Anne:** make sure you aren’t sweaty when you’re trying to hold his hand

**Cole:** fuck you

“In-te-res-ting,” Anne punctuated in a low voice, locking her phone and picking her pen back up.

Gilbert looked up from his phone. “Would that ‘interesting’ information be able to address the fact that Charlie hasn’t even opened my message to him even though he’s literally been in a study about phone addiction?”

“First of all, yes. Second of all, what?”

Gilbert chuckled. “Long story short, we were all short on cash to go to Montreal Pride during the summer after our first year and Charlie took one for the team.”

“I see. Dots connected,” Anne nodded. “Your commitment to Pride is nothing if not commendable.”

Gilbert shrugged. “My only regret is that I still find glitter on our bathroom floor for months after.”

Anne snorted, causing a student sitting at the desk behind Gilbert to throw her a murderous glance. She raised her hand in apology and leaned in further to Gilbert so as not to disturb them any more. “I live with Ruby Gillis. Trust me when I say that if you only have glitter on your bathroom floor, you’re a lucky man.”

* * *

When the library closed at 10PM, they gathered their things and made their way out into the frosty autumn night along with a smattering of students who’d elected to spend their Friday night with their noses buried in books.

“How have you been finding your classes, Anne?” Gilbert asked, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He rolled a piece of lint between his fingers to give him something to do instead of putting his arm around her as he had wanted to ever since they had left the library and he saw her slight shiver. He had tied her scarf around her neck, though, so he wasn’t complaining. He could have sworn that she had turned a soft shade of rosy pink when the backs of his fingers had brushed her hair away from under her collar, but it could have all just been a trick of the light.

“I spend most of my days hitching rides on the dreams hidden in books, so I honestly cannot find fault in my classes even if I wanted to,” Anne replied. Gilbert didn’t even have to look at her to know that a smile brighter than a full moon had lit up her whole face as she said it.

He grinned, one corner of his mouth nudging his cheekbone. “As long as she’s reading, she’s happy.”

Anne exhaled a breezy laugh. “That’s pretty much what Cole said earlier: ‘When in doubt, go to the library.’”

Gilbert joined her laugh, chancing a peek over to where she was walking in step next to him. Before he could say anything else, Anne started to rhapsodise about books and not a single fibre in Gilbert’s body could make him stop her, even if he wanted to.

“I’m just so happy and lucky that I get to study something that never feels like a chore. I think it must be unbearably awful to dread opening one’s books day after day. Meanwhile, I dread finishing books or articles, because it feels like there’s not enough of them in the world, even though I could read every single second for the rest of my life and never even get close to running out of material. But isn’t that just the thing about good books? They’re a mixture of bounding perfection. You just have to read it to know what happens, but you don’t really want to reach the end, because it means saying goodbye to your first time reading it. You can reread books a million times but you only get one first experience. That’s my least favourite part of my degree, I suppose,” she said, her stream of consciousness petering out indicated by her  _ decrescendo  _ voice.

Then she suddenly glanced up and realised that Gilbert was still there. He was just smiling at the tips of his shoes as they brushed past fallen autumn leaves, illuminated by the streetlamps. It had felt so natural to share her ideas with him that she hadn’t thought twice about rambling on. She blushed, looking away from Gilbert and averting her eyes to the tips of her own shoes.

“Sorry,” Anne mumbled. “You were probably looking for something more similar to a yes or no answer.”

Gilbert frowned, then shook his head. “Anne-girl, we both know that your vocabulary is second to none. Maybe equal to some, but–“

Anne elbowed him in the side, but Gilbert laughingly sidestepped her jab. A grin spread across Anne’s face as he wrapped his hand around her elbow and returned it back to her side.

“Now, now. We know violence is never the answer,” he teased, letting go of her arm and sliding his hand back into his pocket.

Anne snorted. “Bit rich coming from someone who was seconds away from challenging me to a battle of wits, but okay.”

“Only a fool would challenge you to a battle of wits, Anne-girl.”

“I am taking this as full permission to call you a fool.”

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Gilbert continued, “I was going to say that I would never, ever ask you something even remotely related to books without expecting a – let’s call it lengthy? – answer. In fact, the shorter your answer, the more concerned I would be about you.”

“Well, that’s nice to know,” Anne said. She could feel her cheeks heating up again, but it wasn’t because she was blushing. It was more like a warm glow that she got whenever she had an opportunity to banter with Gilbert. The way in which they spoke to one another was completely unlike the way in which she ever conversed with any of her other friends, including her flatmates. It was as though she was speaking to an extension of herself, or least to someone with a brain who fully understood and appreciated how her own was wired.

“Anyway, I’m glad that you’re happy with your classes,” Gilbert said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, ‘happy’ doesn’t even begin to describe it, but I’ve yet to find a word in the English language that goes far enough so I’ll let you have it just this once. My only concern is that perhaps everything beautiful is fiction. But then again, perhaps fiction is everything beautiful. Maybe it’s this reality that’s just pretend.”

Lost in conversation, they had reached Anne’s block of flats before either of them realised that this would be the natural end to their conversation. Before she could think too much about it, Anne leaned in to hug Gilbert before she quickly unlocked the front door and gave him a small wave accompanying her soft, “See you tomorrow.”

Gilbert had also raised his hand, but his vocal chords seemed unable to properly form even one-syllable words like  _ bye _ for the moment. He glanced up as Anne disappeared round the corner that Gilbert assumed led to the lift.  _ Cordelia Crescent _ , he read on the building. He smiled to himself and wondered whether she had chosen that place on purpose or fate had just been so kind as to let her live there.

As he started walking away from the flats, his mind started catching up with the rest of his senses. She had smelled really nice in that brief moment during which they were close enough for him to catch a whiff of her hair. It smelled like lavender fields in June.

Gilbert grinned to himself, letting their conversation come back to his mind. He was never so glad that he had time to collect his thoughts while walking home as he was whenever he had had a conversation with Anne. This was the longest time they had spent together all year, he realised.

And that’s when his brain started turning like the cogs of a music box and the words started streaming out.

* * *

Moody had heard Gilbert enter their flat a while ago, but had made no particular move to remove himself from his room at that time. He was far too comfortable scrolling through his phone on his bed as he half-sat, half-lay watching  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine  _ with one eye. That was why, about three episodes later, when Moody made his way to the kitchen to leave his plates on the counter for Gilbert to clean at some point over the weekend, he was surprised when Gilbert was hunched over on the sofa, Moody’s guitar in his lap as he frantically scribbled lines onto a notepad.

He was in the process of figuring out what Moody assumed would eventually turn into a chord progression when he glanced up, his glasses sitting on the end of his nose from where it had slid down as Gilbert had hunched over.

“Sorry, Moods,” Gilbert said, giving himself a shake, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose with a curled finger. He ducked under the strap of the guitar as he handed the instrument to his roommate. “I completely forgot to ask if I can use it.”

A line made its appearance between Moody’s eyebrows and he shook his head. “Nah, that’s fine. ‘Slong as it’s for  _ Stratford _ , you can borrow it whenever.”

“Oh okay. Cool, thanks,” Gilbert said absentmindedly, settling the guitar back on his lap and leaning over it to scribble down something on the notepad he’d left on the coffee table. The second his pen had made a mark on the paper, all thoughts of accommodating his roommate had completely fled his mind.

Moody exhaled a confused chuckle at whatever the hell had gotten into Gilbert, opting to just leave him to it.

Fifteen minutes later when Moody had finished his shower, he found Gilbert in the exact same slouched-over-the-guitar position on the couch as he’d left him. There was no point in trying to get Gilbert to go to sleep when he was in one of these moods. Moody had had Gilbert snap at him one too many times during exam season for him to chance interrupting his engrossment. Just as he was on his way back to his room, he said over his shoulder, “Just remember we want to be at the Meadows by nine so we can set up.”

“Mm,” was all the answer he got out of Gilbert, which was actually pretty good in Moody’s books.

Gilbert glanced at the time when Moody had said his version of ‘goodnight.’ It was only half eleven, which wasn’t at all a daunting time but considering that he had to be somewhat fresh the next morning, he would have to be heading to bed soon.

He promised himself he’d only have one more look over the lyrics and chords he’d written out after his walk with Anne. As always, he’d found inspiration in the words that she spoke without hesitation.

“I spend most of my days hitching rides on dreams hidden in books,” had turned into  _ I hitch a ride on the dream she’s driving _ . Gilbert smiled fondly at that line. He had decided that was what the introduction to the song had needed and most of the chords that he’d been deciphering were part of this.

Then he’d come to the bridge. Gilbert had been taken aback when one moment the notepad in front of him was empty, and the next it was full of Anne’s words that had been planted like seeds in his mind and watered by her presence. And what a beautiful bouquet they had made on the page.

Gilbert had never felt as sure of any words as he felt of 

_ You find a mixture of bounding perfection _

_ You’ve gotta read but you don’t want to reach the end _

He knew that Anne had said those words in the context of books, but couldn’t help but be reminded of the fact that words were woven so tightly into the fabric of her Anne-ness, that they always carried a weight that many people might miss if they didn’t know where to look. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think, even for a moment, that he knew the contents of her mind better than she did. But he did think that paying careful attention to her every word was something criminally undervalued by most.

And so, when he completed the bridge to reach the banks of his trusty chorus, the words didn’t feel forced at all. Writing down Anne’s words had become second nature to him over these past few weeks.

_ ‘Cause what if everything beautiful’s fiction? _

_ And this reality’s just pretend? _

Happy with the progress he’d made, Gilbert stood up creakily and went through the motions of preparing for bed. He was glad for his ability to completely rely on autopilot. Even though he was seeing Anne again tomorrow, he still wasn’t quite ready to let go of their conversation just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so friday is over 👀
> 
> this was one of the chapter's that i was most excited to share with you all, so please let do me know what you thought if ya fancy, i'd love some bants in the comments :)))
> 
> one of the things i was most excited for in this fic is, what i cheerfully like to call, "my charcole agenda" so i really hope that you guys like how i've written their relationship so far!! but i know what we all *really* want to talk about is shirbert's clownery and, in my defence, i was just projecting all my dumbassery onto them this week so i hope you didn't lose too many braincells reading this lol
> 
> hoping i can update this more frequently but life seems to have different ideas as to how i spend my time, so i can't make any promises for now 🙈 but here's the link to my [up to the stars playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/75hu2yhznq7YpPmsMHvPEy?si=OUwh4AFTR9Kmra8r95YI9Q) and [my twitter ](https://twitter.com/dashingwhitesgt) if ya need something to tide you over while you wait!! anyways, thanks for reading as always and hope you're all staying safe & healthy ❤️
> 
> lots of love,  
> kara xxx


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